


Pennyroyal Tea (ON HIATUS; WILL RETURN THIS YEAR)

by Lemonade



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Black Hermione Granger, Culture Shock, Cussing, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Indian Harry Potter, Mental Health Issues, Muggle Life, Muggle Technology, Muggle/Wizard Relations, Multi, Musical References, POV Multiple, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Relationship(s), Post-Deathly Hallows AU, Psychological Trauma, Self-Indulgent, Self-Insert, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2018-12-03 04:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11524749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemonade/pseuds/Lemonade
Summary: Penny Holbrooke is shocked to find her application has been approved for the position of Muggle Studies professor at Hogwarts. As a barely-magical squib, her prospects in the magical world are slim, and such a position would mean an intense boost for her social standing. She accepts, but with the remnants of the Second Wizarding War still aloft about the school, tensions are skyrocketing and Penny doesn't know if she'll make it through the year with her wits about her; a certain discourteous potions master really isn't helping the matter, either.All at once, a new prophecy is afoot, and suddenly Penny and the entire wizarding world have everything to lose.





	1. Penny Holbrooke and the Muggle Studies Position

**Author's Note:**

> This is a shameless self-insert. Judge me as you please; I've always had a special place in my heart for the Snape character. He's still a shitty person in the books, but that doesn't mean I can't like him. I have a track record for picking terrible guys anyways.
> 
> I'll do my best to stay true to his character, but I have to reread the series because at this point I can't remember what is fanon and what is canon.
> 
> Edit: comments are moderated now because someone couldn’t play nice. I’ll remind you: this is a fan fiction. It is not catered to you. It is for my pleasure, because I like to write it. Do you say these things to all the writers on here? Honestly. Don’t be a cunt.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penny's dare ends in the best way possible; or so she thought.

Originally, Penny had applied to the open Muggle Studies position as a dare.

It had been a drunken dare, nonetheless, and Penny wasn't very proud of it, but she'd applied anyway at the intoxicated urging of her best friend Nora, even if Nora’d had no clue that the job had anything to do with the magical world.

"It's out of my league," she'd slurred to an equally not-sober Nora during a late-night game of truth-or-dare, sloshing around a vodka-lemonade hybrid of a drink, "even if I'm qualified. There's n'way they'd pick me."

Nora, in all her infinite and inebriated wisdom, had told Penny quite plainly to "fuck it" and that it couldn't hurt to send in an application anyway, and that was that. Of course, that had been three months prior before Nora had broken the news of her engagement and sequentially moved out to Kentucky to live with her fiancée. 

However, a month and a half before the fall equinox, Penny had received a most surprising set of letters.

The letters arrived at exactly six in the morning on August 3rd, 1999, accompanied by a lovely brown barn owl who cooed and hooted until Penny tossed it a bit of bacon from her sizzling pan. 

 _Ms. Pennleah Hedley Holbrooke_ , it read on the front.

_47 Hill Street, Apartment #2_

_Brooklyn, NY 11208_

_The United States of America_

The letters themselves came in heavy, cream-colored envelopes, without trim or pattern, that upon turning over Penny noted had shield-like crests in inky black on the closing flap above a red wax seal that held the flap shut. 'Hogwarts,' the small, black banner above the logo read, with the Latin phrase, ' _Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus'_ on the banner below it.

"It can't be," Penny mumbled, pulling a single-paged letter out of the first cream envelope, her hands shaking as she read the page. 

_Ms. Holbrooke:_

_We at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry are excited to extend an offer of employment to your person in the position of Professor of Muggle Studies, effective immediately. Your qualifications for the position are exemplary; while the current state of your magical abilities may present you a challenge in this position, we hope sincerely for your acceptance of the post._

_Please respond with your acceptance or rejection of the position by 20/08. The school's updated teaching contract is attached._

_Best wishes,_

_Headmistress Minerva McGonagall_

"Shit," Penny said.

Here, the fruits of her paper-thin labor lay glittering in her hands, the filigree of Headmistress McGonagall's signature especially sparkling in the glow of the apartment's fluorescent lights. Her pan of bacon sizzled on as she stood stupefied with the letter, ignorant that the edges of her hickory-smoked slices were beginning to burn.

Penny remembered briefly a floo interview she’d done with a representative of the school a month prior, that had left her feeling less-than-stellar about having any chance towards the position. Her stomach flipped with excitement and disbelief, and she tore into the second envelope in her hands.

"Shit," she repeated, "shit, they actually want to hire me."

A quick glance at the documents in the second letter confirmed that this was, indeed, an offer of employment to one of the most famous wizarding schools in the world, better so than the Ilvermorny School in Massachusetts.

As her bacon started to blacken in the pan on the stove before her, Pennleah Holbrooke dashed into the packet of papers, taking it in a page at a time:  _term contract, active when signed, rooms on the ground, access to muggle technology, two-year contract, possibility for permanent employment_. It was a dream of a job even in contractual format. 

She'd need professorial robes if she took up the position; would need to convert a large sum of dollars into British pounds, then into the current wizarding currency, would need to break her lease, quit her job at the mental health clinic, break the news to the volunteer theater! 

 _Professor of Muggle Studies._ Would she be able to continue theater as a hobby? 

But it had been Penny's dream for decades to attend a wizarding school, ever since she'd been a child! The absence of letters when she'd turned eleven had broken her heart more severely than she believed anything ever could. In their place had been a form she'd "need to fill out to register as a squib" of all things, and she'd refused to come out of her room for a month afterward. Her magical mother had been distraught; her No-Maj father had been indifferent. In the end, she'd began private school near Salem, and moved out to New York for college after she'd finished high school.

More-so, from Penny's knowledge, she was a complete squib. No magical abilities, no visions: nothing. She couldn't feel the masses of magic that supposedly thrummed from her mother's wand, though her cousin Ross could, and no matter how hard she'd tried she'd never been able to manage a bout of accidental magic. The most magical thing she'd ever done in her life was passing high school chemistry, and even she had to admit that there wasn't any magic involved in cheating.

And yet, here in her hands was a paper that now seemed to hold all the magic she'd missed in the past two decades. Here was her chance to finally experience the wizarding world she'd never been allowed to know outside of her squibbish life.

Would she take it?

Fumbling through her junk drawer for a pen, Penny knew at once that her answer - after all these painful years - was  _yes._

Moments later, Penny's bacon burnt to a crisp.

* * *

 

"Ah, god damn it."

A month later, Penny stood in front of platforms nine and ten, two suitcases of brown leather luggage resting against her legs and a frustrated frown plastered on her face as she held a crumpled note in her hands.

Getting to London had been the easier part; while apparating was out of the question for her, taking a flight into the country had helped her maintain her illusion of independence in the wizarding world. Her mother had paid for the plane ticket, excited beyond words that  _her_ squib daughter had been chosen over hundreds of  _magical_ individuals for a professorial position at the prestigious Hogwarts. Her mother was sure to be gushing about it for the next month, and Penny was honestly happy to ride on the coattails of it.

But now she stood befuddled and frustrated in front of where the entrance to the Hogwarts platform  _should_ be, but couldn't seem to find it. 

"Did I read this wrong?"

Another once-over of the instructions confirmed she had read it correctly. Platform nine-and-three-quarters. Which, according to the stationmaster she'd questioned, did not exist.

With a stern frown, Penny walked up to the platform wall and with a wince, gave the wall a hesitant poke.

"It won't open like that." A sweet, melodic voice matter-of-facted from behind Penny's back. Penny flinched sharply with a squeak.

"You've got to run right into it." Another voice added, quietly. 

Penny whipped about. Behind her were two young adults, looking barely older than nineteen, pushing steel trolleys along packed up with suitcases and boxes. It was a young man and a young woman exactly, the young man slightly mousy but calm in his demeanor and the young woman a very peculiar looking blonde with star-shaped glasses and curled shoes. 

"Pardon?" Penny shied.

The young blonde giggled. "We said," she seemed to sing, "you can't get it that way."

Penny stilled. "I'm...sorry? Get in where?"

The young man's eyes widened slightly as he processed what Penny had said, and he ran a hand nervously through his hair. "Oh, sorry." He eventually mumbled. "We thought you were-"

"Magic," the girl finished, smiling. 

Penny blushed hotly with realization. "Oh, yes! Magic. Right. Yes. I-" Penny shut herself up quickly as her mind caught up to her mouth. The general attitude towards squibs for most of the wizarding population was ragingly negative. She remembered reading about a poll in  _The Daily Prophet,_ not a week before that put the percentage of approving wizards in squib relations at a low thirteen percent. Perhaps, for now, it would be best to keep that specific characteristic to herself.

"Ahm," Penny forced out instead, "could you...help me?" She pointed towards the wall before her hesitantly. 

The girl in the star-shaped glasses smiled brightly again before moving towards Penny, standing almost at head with the petite woman. "We'd be happy to," the girl said, curling a blue-clothed hand around Penny's right arm and gently moving her away from the wall. "It's a bit startling, but Neville will show you. He's very good at it now."

 _Huh._ Penny thinks.  _Neville._

Neville blushed slightly at his name's mention. "Luna," he tutted at the girl, "I'm going along ahead, then. Should I take your trolley, too?"

"Please?"

"'Kay. See you ahead, then."

With that, Neville turned both trolleys around and gripped a handle in each hand, readying himself into a running stance. Before Penny could react, the brown-haired boy charged towards the dividing wall between platform nine and ten. Penny's voice broke as she started a warning, but before her eyes Neville and the trolleys disappeared into the divider, leaving not a trace behind save for the disturbed dust in the air.

As Penny stood gobsmacked before the wall, Luna giggled again beside her. "You remind me of a friend," she laughed, before tightening her grip on Penny's arm and picking up one of Penny's suitcases with her free hand. "Best grab your things; the Nargals do love things left behind."

Penny picked up the remaining suitcase. "What are-"

Before she could finish her sentence, Luna pulled Penny forward with such a force that she was flung towards the wall. Unable to suppress the squeal that bubbled up from her throat, Penny closed her eyes instinctively, bracing herself for an impact-

-that never came. Instead, the noises of King's Cross Station melted away, fading slowly into the sound of distant chattering and a steam train whistle. As the noises grew louder, Penny cracked an eye open to take in the sight of a large, warmly red and black train twinkling in the sun beams that filtered in through the skylights on the ceiling. Around her, families and their children bustled this way and that, pushing carts full of suitcases just as Luna and Neville had. Some were dressed peculiarly in medieval-looking robes, whilst others passed by in band tees and jeans. It made Penny feel slightly out of place in her red cloth pencil skirt and plaid shirt. Perhaps she  _should_ have worn her new professorial robes to the station.

"First time?" Luna asked.

"Yes," Penny answered, as she took in the platform in awe. "First time."

"Well," Luna responded, "I have to get on, now. Neville will be waiting for me." She let go of Penny's arm and placed Penny's suitcase down gently. "I hope you find your way on, too; goodbye, Ms. Holbrooke."

With that, the starry-eyed Luna slipped away. 

"Wait!" Penny realized suddenly. "How did you-"

But Luna melted into the crowd, and with that Penny was left in a state similar to the one she'd been in on the other side of the wall: confused, lonely, and holding a now balled-up note of instructions in her hand.

"How did you know my name?" Penny asked no one.

Penny looked around again at the families with their children and their trolleys and sighed heavily at the loneliness in her own heart before picking up her two suitcases and hurrying off to the first car of the train. There was no time to feel sorry for herself now she surmised, as she pushed her intrusive thoughts to the back of her mind. She'd get by on her own now, as she usually did.

She wondered, quietly, as she stepped onto the train, what friend she'd reminded Luna of. 

She hoped they were nice. 

* * *

 

At another section of the train station, nineteen-year-old Harry Potter sat wordlessly in a trolley car with his closest friends, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, who sat snuggled softly into the adjacent bench as Hermione slept. The scenery outside whizzed past the cabin window as Harry stared out, flashes of fall colors and yellowing grass slipping by.

He had done his best to push the events of the previous school year from his mind over the summer, moving in with the Weasleys for a short time while Hermione traveled to Australia to uncharm her parents' memories. As much as Harry loved the ragtag group of redheads and even considered them his own surrogate family, the emotional toll of the war had still been entirely too heavy, especially with the tragic loss of Fred; he'd left the Burrow to room in the Black Manor for the remainder of the season.

He'd spent the time alone thinking. Thinking of Fred, lying pale and stark against the floors of Hogwarts. Thinking of Tonks and Remus, their hands intertwined with bright red blood splayed this way and that on their clothing, Tonks' hair still a loving and warm shade of pink though the life in each was drained away. Of the babbling, sweet child they'd left behind, who's hair frequented towards the same, warm color. 

Harry had felt a deep, sharp pit inside himself with every pair of cold, lifeless eyes he'd remembered. It had started small after the battle, like a little knot in his stomach, but here in the train car it felt as large as a boulder, crushing him underneath its emotional weight. 

Harry suddenly felt very breathless. 

"You feel alright, mate?" Ron asked lowly from across the car. "You've been quiet 'lot more than usual."

"'M'fine, I think." Harry guessed. "Just need to move."

"You could see if Luna and Neville are 'round. They'd be glad to catch up. Don't think 'Mione will be waking up anytime soon; she was up all night reading over the new Charms textbook."

Hermione snored adorably from beside Ron, her bushy hair pushed into his sweatered neck. Ron paused to caress a curl away from her nose, which made her sniffle slightly.

"Sure, yeah." Harry agreed. "That's good. See you in a bit, then."

Harry left quietly and made his way towards the front of the train where most of the other upper years normally stationed themselves during the ride to Hogwarts. He eventually found Luna and Neville in the second train car, close to the front of the train and tucked in next the prefect cabin.

“Hello, Harry,” Luna greeted before he’d finished opening the cabin door, her hand gently holding Neville’s as they sat together in the train car. Neville had a copy of _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ open on his lap, a finger pointed to a carnivorous narcblacker, with its fanged leaves and poison petals.

“Hullo,” Harry replied, closing the door behind him. “You mind if I join you?”

“Oh, of course not, Harry,” Luna answered. “The nargles have been especially restless, so I thought perhaps you might be around.”

Harry grinned sheepishly, not quite understanding, but took a seat nonetheless. He’d come to respect Luna immensely, even if he didn’t understand what she said every now and then.

“Oh, Harry, Neville and I met someone wonderful today,” Luna exclaimed, twisting a long-chained locket in her free hand. “She was very nice, if a little confused. She seemed a bit out of place, so we helped her find it again.”

“Luna was telling me that she reminded her of you,” Neville chimed in. “Didn’t tell me why, though.”

“She felt quite far away like Harry does sometimes,” Luna replied bluntly.

Neville changed the subject. “Did you hear that Hermione was offered the position of Head Girl this year?” He asked, leaning forward. “Don’t know if she accepted – she forgot to write back after she went to Australia.”

Harry nodded. “She accepted; said it’s about time the position had some diversity.”

Luna piped up. “Neville was asked to be head boy.”

Neville blushed a deep maroon and squeezed Luna’s hand, urging her to hush.

“You were?” Harry hadn’t heard anything about it in Neville’s letters during the summer.

Neville sighed and ruffled his hair nervously. “Yeah,” he admitted, “but I turned it down. I want to work on getting a Herbology apprenticeship with the school after my graduation, and it’d be too much work if I were Head Boy. They gave it to a Hufflepuff boy instead: Daniel, I think his name was.”

“Ah,” Harry observed.

The conversation eventually floated about, Neville asking Harry about the quidditch team and Luna asking about his dreams. As the hours passed, the heavy feeling in Harry’s stomach began to lift, and he felt well enough to return to Ron and Hermione for the rest of the train ride.

“Bye, Harry,” Neville waved as Harry departed. Luna simply smiled.

Harry pulled up and left the bouncing train compartment, closing the door behind himself as he made back down the train towards his original compartment, set on spending the rest of the train ride silently watching the landscape pass outside the window.

He passed compartment upon compartment filled with giggling students of all years but stopped when he felt a tug on his jacket.

Harry looked down, to find himself looking down at a heavily freckled face full of straw blonde hair, that stared up at him with a star-struck gaze. "Aren't you Harry Potter?" The excited first-year cheered. The children in the open compartment behind her all looked up with a gasp before thrusting off their seats and pounding towards the car door. 

"Can I have your autograph?" One child screeched.

"I'd like to touch your scar!" Another yelped, reaching their hand out towards his head.

Harry instinctively ducked back and found himself jogging towards the door that led to the next rail car, the crowd of first-years soon peddling behind him. He barely made it into the next train car before the children, eyes darting this way and that for an empty cart.

_He needed to hide! Couldn't let them catch him, who knows what they'd-_

His hand reached out to a sliding door.

* * *

 

Penny sighed.

 The train ride so far had been terribly dull. Penny had hoped to get a chance to mingle with her future students, but upon her arrival in the train car, she had quickly discovered that there was a compartment dedicated entirely to staff which was of the moment empty save for her. Being the only squib on staff was already entirely dreadful; as Penny didn't particularly like being alone with her thoughts she'd taken out her disc player and its accompanying collection. A gentle stringing of a simple song played through her bulky headphones while she watched as the scenery flew by outside her window, letting fantasies play out in her head as the music filled her mind.

It had been about five hours now since she'd seen another person. She wondered intrinsically how Nora was doing. Penny hoped Nora and her fiancée would take it slow and wait to hold the wedding until Penny got back to the States. Nora had promised to make her the maid of honor, after all.

Her mind quieted once more, drifting back to the music. When she grew bored of listening, she sang quietly along.

"Kiss me," she cooed, “beneath the milky twilight, lead me out of the moonlit floor. Lift your open hand! Strike up the band, and make the fireflies dance;  
silver moon's sparkling..."

She could hear her voice echo in the empty train car, and as the music trekked on she could once more feel the lonely aching in her chest that had reared its ugly head at the platform. Thinking back to the sessions she'd had with her psychologist in Brooklyn, she began slowly noting things she could see, things she could smell, feel, and taste.

 _I can see green grass of the hill._ She observed.  _I can smell the leather polish from the seats._

Her hands moved slightly in their warm limpness on her lap.  _I can feel how dry my hands are._

One raised to her mouth, as she licked her lips. _I can taste the mint I had earlier._ She completed.

Just then, the car door opened, and Penny snapped her singing mouth shut and turned her head to see a young man at the door, who quickly slid it shut behind himself. The boy had messy black hair, piercing green eyes, and what looked like a scar on his forehead, with wiry, full moon-like glasses on his face. She hurried to put her emotions back in their place.

The boy ducked down quickly as a noisy gaggle of petite shadows ran past the closed door to the teacher's compartment. When their sounds could no longer be heard, the boy looked up.

"Pardon," he breathed heavily, "may I hide in here?"

Penny stayed quiet for a tense moment before laughing aloud at the awkwardness of the situation. "Yes!" She managed to get out between laughs, "yes, that's fine. Come on in.”

The boy smiled slightly and sat on the bench opposite of her seat, turning his eyes out the window for a moment before settling his focus on Penny. "Sorry. I don't know your name," he mentioned casually, holding his hand out in greeting.

"My name is Penny Holbrooke," Penny smiled, giving the boy's hand a firm shake. "I'll be the new Muggle Studies teacher."

The boy quieted, pulled his hand away, and paled. “I'm in the teacher's compartment, then." He said bluntly.

"Yes," Penny agreed. "You are."

Immediately the boy's face fell. "I'll leave." He mumbled, heading for the door. Penny tensed as she recognized anxiousness radiating from the boy, and gently stopped him. "It's fine," she comforted, "I don't mind. It's just me, myself, and I, and none of us really mind. It's been lonely in here, to be honest."

The boy stared at her. "Won't you be in trouble, though?" He asked. "Or me?"

Penny thought quietly. "Maybe," she answered, "but I'm sure it would just be on me. I'd love the company, and I'd rather not send you back out there to...you know."

Harry let a small smile show on his face. "Alright," he replied. He quickly sat back down and took notice of the portable disc player on Penny's lap. "You use players?" He asked.

"Yeah; I've always loved music. I was a theater major for a while in college, actually."

"What are you listening to?"

"Sixpence right now. I was planning to switch to Sugar Ray in a bit, actually; did you want to listen in? I have an extra pair of headphones and a splitter."

"Sure." The boy said. "I'm Harry, by the way. Harry Potter."

Penny smiled. "Nice to meet you, Harry."

The boy seems stunned for some reason or another at her nonchalant reaction, but he soon turned his attention to the headphones being presented to him by Penny's hands. He took them, gently putting them on, and Penny switched benches to sit next to him as she replaced the CD. Plugging the splitter into the audio, she fixed up the headphones jacks and pressed play.

A beachy twang of guitar gently began on Penny's headphones, and Penny watched as Harry bopped his head along with the music.

"Have you ever listened to Sugar Ray before?" She asked.

"No," Harry replied, "but I like it."

Penny smiled. "So do I."

“Are you from here?” Harry asked after a moment. “You sound American.”

“I’m from Salem, originally. I studied in New York for a while before taking up this position.”

“What magic schools do they have in America? I’ve actually never thought about magic outside of Europe.” Harry admitted guiltily.

“Well,” Penny explained, “in the United States, they have one school: Ilvermony. It was close to where I lived. But I hear they’re thinking of building another in the west because of the population increase in the States. I think California would be a good place. Or maybe Nevada?”

* * *

 

Harry left the compartment about an hour later with thanks as a shrewd whistle alerted the pair to their impending arrival at the Hogwarts station. She took her time to lock the compartment when the boy's shadow was out of sight, then closed the shutters to change into her robes.

The purchase of the robes themselves had been a gift from one of her magical aunts after they'd heard about the position; apparently, her maternal grandmother had left a galleon or two as to afford Penny with appropriate robes for when she was supposed to attend wizarding school at a younger age but had been left alone after it had been discovered Penny was a squib. 

With her mother's help, Penny had bought two sets of robes tailored for her work at Hogwarts in Diagon Alley; one, a kind but muted autumn yellow and the other a formal and orderly black, both snug but light on body. As her first event would be the welcoming feast, she was currently clad in her orderly black, with the cuffs held together with star-shaped silver buttons and her shoes a simple black flat.

Taking out a compact, she scrutinized her face as well. Her pixie cut was still a sweet, bottle-dyed blonde sprayed into place and her blue eyes stared softly into her reflection under brunette eyebrows. The brown section in her right eye stilled glared out in the mirror - a genetic memento from her paternal grandmother - and the dimple under her left eye was still marked with a dark brown, barely raised mole. It was Penny, all-in-all, no different from when she'd been in just her pencil skirt and the plaid button-up. 

Penny sighed. She hadn't gotten any prettier. She was still plain, simple Penny. Her nose was still slightly bumped, her lips were still small in proportion to her face, and the dark bags under her eyes were still stubbornly there was well. 

 _Well,_ Penny thought.  _At least I haven't gotten any uglier._

The train began to slow as Penny finished repacking her suitcases, and the train whistled a final time to signal their arrival at Hogwarts Station. 

Her crumpled instructions had informed her that she would be taken to the school by carriage alongside the older students, but she would be traveling in her own cart, as she had on the train. She'd be allowed to go first, to get to the school before the hustle bustle of students was in full swing.

Penny waited until the train had completely stopped, then opened her compartment and hurried off. She found the carriages quickly, noticing strange, sickly, equine-looking creatures pulling the carts. It startled her, but she quickly shrugged it off and stepped into the smallest cart, watching the carriage door close magically behind her as the creature started off up the path through the forest. 

"Hello," Penny said quietly to the creature. It seemed to look back at her for a moment, before continuing its stride towards the castle.

They arrived quickly, and the door opened once again without Penny's help.

Penny stepped out, suitcases in hand, and began towards the castle but stopped, turning towards the dark, horse-like creature before she left.

"I'm Penny." Penny murmured. "Thank you for the ride."

With that, Penny rushed off towards the castle entrance. 

None of the children had arrived yet, so Penny took the time to gaze upon the grandeur of the castle. It was gray rock but seemed silver in the ebbing of the sunlight. The castle itself seemed to lay upon a small mountain looking out a large, shimmering lake, and it had spires and towers rising high into the dimming sky. At the highest peak, the sun was setting quietly, and the sky was a rainbow of warm, hopeful colors. It gave Penny's heart a loving lurch, as she stared upon the school of her childhood dreams.

She may have never gotten the letter when she'd wanted it, but now, standing on the steps of Hogwarts herself, Penny found she was glad to have gotten any letter at all. Her job acceptance letter felt warm in her breast pocket. 

Taking a deep breath, Penny collected her courage and continued into the castle's open doors, taking in the marvel of the inner architecture as she did. 

She yelped, however, when she almost tripped over a tiny, tan creature standing in the doorway. "I'm so sorry!" Penny apologized, "I didn't see you."

The creature smiled up at Penny with big brown eyes that reminded her of her sweet, late dachshund, Maximus. "Poppy will take your bags now, she will." The small creature squeaked, curtsying low in her potato sack dress. The gesture brought Penny's wits back about her.

"Thank you," Penny smiled, gently placing the handles of her suitcases in the house elf's small hands. "I appreciate it." 

"To your room, shall I take them, Ms. Holbrooke?" The house elf asked.

"Yes, my rooms please, Miss Poppy."

The house elf blushed at the formality. "There be no needed for the missus, missus. I am a humble Poppy."

"Well," Penny sweetly argued, "My mother says everyone deserves a missus."

Poppy's eyes sparkled lightly before she popped away with Penny's luggage, leaving the short woman alone once more in the castle. Now, Penny supposed, she should take her place in the great hall before the children arrived. She turned, and carefully pulled one of the large doors open as students began trickling in through the front door behind her.

Penny quieted as she walked into the main hall, her mind so silent she can hear the blood drumming in her ears. The room looked exactly like the moving pictures from the books her mother used to own; echoingly large ceilings, hardy stone walls, and the most realistic enchanted sky she'd ever seen before in her life. It flickered and shimmered in dark blue and melted gold, and she thought she saw a single star streak across the place she was starting at. She didn't notice the loud chatter of teenagers and preteens talking among themselves as they entered the room until it was too late when a gruff noise broke her out of her trance. For the second time that evening, she almost tripped over a short individual, who harrumphed loudly at her discretion.  

"Oh, 'scuse me." Penny apologized. 

The intensely short man rolled his eyes. "You are Miss Holbrooke, the squib, I presume?" He asked, looking her up and down in silent judgment.

"That's me," Penny forced out, “squib and all."

The short man seemed barely content with her answer. "You'll be sitting next to Professor Snape, in the empty chair on the end," he gruffed, pointing the chair out at the long, wooden table at the front of the room.

"Thanks." Penny hurried off to her place with a red face, placing herself in the empty seat at the end of the table before she embarrassed herself any further. She watched as gaggles of students drifted into the room, seating themselves at one of four tables, wearing colors that seemed to coordinate with each one. She recognized the colors as those of the tetrad Hogwarts houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Slytherin, and Ravenclaw. 

She also recognized a few children at each of the tables as the ones she'd met earlier; Luna sat among the blue-clad students of the Ravenclaw table, while Harry and Neville sat at the red-washed Gryffindor table, accompanied by a bushy, kind looking brunette girl and a freckled red-head boy who were holding hands with each other. She watched them laugh with their friends, and hoped dearly she'd get to experience the same kind of laughter so far from home.

The hall soon quieted as the doors opened completely, and an older woman Penny recognized as Minerva McGonagall swished into the main hall with a line of small, baby-faced first years behind her. At this point, the head table was completely full of its assigned teachers, save for the empty chair beside Penny, meant for one Professor Snape. 

The sorting was quick; Penny cheered as the musicality of the Sorting Hat's song reminded her of her theater back home and was glad to see that the younger students were warmly accepted into their new houses. Headmistress McGonagall swiftly took her place at the head of the front table after the sorting, and with a clap of her hands began a long-winded speech.

"Thank you, all. I welcome you to another year at Hogwarts, and pray you've all found yourselves here well." McGonagall glowed, casting her eyes over all the students. "The rebuilding of Hogwarts progressed faster than any of us could have anticipated, and we would like to thank all the students and families who had a role in it. Without the donations and labor that were put in by volunteers, we would never have opened for this year. Thank you, from the bottom of our hearts."

Penny vaguely remembered her mother speaking to her of the Battle of Hogwarts. As per the usual nonchalant American attitude, she'd never paid much attention to the happenings of the British wizarding world, but she had enough common sense to understand the basics of the second British Wizarding War. If memory served her correctly, many people died in the battle on both sides, many of whom had been students and staff.

A sad smile bloomed on McGonagall's face as she continued. "Part of our donations were used to create a memorial for those lost during the events of the last school year and can be found in the gardens behind the school. We ask that all students are respectful to the memorial, as you would respect any grave or tomb."

"I would also like to remind all students that the events of last May do not define your classmates. Bullying will not be tolerated out of any of the houses, and any discretion made against other students will be dealt with harshly. The war is over, and I expect each and every one of you to take that to mind before you raise your wands against each other."

Penny watched as the eyes of a few students turned dark, and hummed worryingly to herself. But then, the door behind Penny's chair opened without warning, and Penny started again. She peeked around her chair, but could not catch a glimpse of the person who came in before she heard her name.

"Dear students, I would now like to present to you the new Professor of Muggle Studies - Miss Pennleah Holbrooke - who will replace our late Charity Burbage. Miss Holbrooke, if you could stand please."

Penny stood quickly, a nervous smile affixed on her face. She waved curtly at children seated in the four large tables before her, feeling hundreds of eyes on her. She didn't mind the overt attention as she channeled her times in stage productions, but somehow the eyes of the children before her were more affronting. The chair beside her moved out, and a billow of black cloaks sat down in her peripheral. 

"Thank you, Ms. Holbrooke." Penny quickly sat as McGonagall spoke on. "I would also like to welcome Professor Snape back to his position as Potions teacher and Head of Slytherin after his leave of absence from last May. I will remind students of the professor's exonerated status, and advise you all that attacks on teachers will result in immediate expulsion."

 _Exonerated_? Penny wondered. She looked over, to see the man from the front page of the former year's  _Wizarding Daily_ of-the-year article staring out at the house tables. Oh.  _That_ Snape.

Severus Snape, the supposed spy for the British wizarding government, ex-Death Eater, nearly killed by the venom of his former master's vicious viper, saved by the tears of a phoenix. He was exactly the kind of underdog the American people loved to read about, and his story had been plastered on the front page of  _Wizarding Daily_ , with the title, "Severus Snape: Wizard of the Year?" 

Penny knew better than to believe the drivel they printed in the wizarding paper, but couldn't help but blush slightly at the sight of the man. The paper obvious hadn't captured a very flattering angle for him because he was much better looking in person. 

 _Of course,_ Penny thought, recalling the lone photo they’d had of the man, _not having blood seeping from a gaping wound in your neck helps a lot._

The taller man must have noticed her gaze, as he looked over a gave her what seemed to be a rude, sharp sneer. Penny blanched and looked away.

“I am also pleased to announce that our groundskeeper, Rubeus Hagrid, will be continuing in his position as Professor for the Care of Magical Creatures curriculum – Hagrid, if you please-“

A half-giant man beside Snape stood up and knocked his chair over, waving merrily at the students seated before him and then attempted to sit back down, falling on the floor with a hearty grunt. The students didn’t laugh at the half-giant’s blunder but instead smiled, and one of the other teachers pushed Hagrid’s chair up and urged him back into his seat.

“Finally, I would like to remind all students that the Forbidden Forest is just that; forbidden. Unless guided by staff member’s instruction, all students wishing for their own health and safety should remain out of the forest’s bounds at all time. That is all.” McGonagall finished. “I implore you to enjoy this school year. May the feast begin!"

McGonagall clapped her hands, and a plethora of foods appeared before the students on their tables, including the teacher's table. The children cheered, especially the first years, and everyone seemed to tuck right in. 

At that moment, Penny felt the nervousness she had been pushing down all day flare up as an invasive anamnesis rushed to the forefront of her mind: picking at her food and withering away, a small razor blade to her inner arms, crushing feelings of loneliness and helplessness she kept trying to bleed out. She made a gesture to cover up her wrists so no one would see her many faded scars; touching the silken fabric of her robe's long, fitted sleeve, she managed to break out of the vicious cycling in her head.

Perhaps it was the anxiety of this new experience eating away at her patience, or perhaps the rude sneer her tabled neighbor had given her moments before had broken through her last line of defense. Angry as it made her, Penny’s appetite was now gone. 

Penny waited - strategically - for the moment when she believed everyone was entranced in their meals, then quietly slipped out the door the man beside her had come through. She wouldn't be eating that night, for certain.

She didn't notice a black-haired colleague watching her leave, or his eyes trailing on her arms as she tottered out the door. 

* * *

 

Poppy had come to her rescue moments later when she'd reached a strange corridor, and upon asking to be shown to her rooms, Poppy led Penny down into the lower levels of the castle until they reached a warm, sweet-smelling area that Penny noticed was right next to the kitchens that bustled with house elves. She remembered from her instructional letter that the Hufflepuff common room was nearby, noticing a stack of barrels resting in an enclave that Poppy led her past. Soon, they came upon a warm, yellow-colored door at the end of a hall, which had a plaque next to it inscribed  _Pennleah Holbrooke, Muggle Studies_. Her office, Penny supposed, until Poppy opened the door.

The room was warm and cozy with a fire roaring in the pit inside, an elegant oaken desk sitting plainly near it with a floral-printed fanback armchair behind it. The fireplace was bricked with brown clay, and before it sat two comfortable-looking Victorian armchairs in a solid yellow, with star-shaped pillows and a single white throw over the back of the one closest to the desk.

The whole room was also filled with lovely, green plants. Penny recognized a few: spider plant, donkey-tail, jade.

"Is this my office?" Penny asked no one.

"Poppy is told it is, Ms. Holbrooke." Poppy answered kindly.

Poppy opened another door that led into an equally-homey bedroom with a bathroom attached, with the same golden yellow and floral theme. Penny was astounded at the circular bed, which she'd thrown into the room design as a joke, with its fluffy bisque sheets and quilted covers. She would not want for anything in her rooms, she was sure.

"Need Poppy more, do you?" Poppy interrupted, and Penny shook her head. Poppy snapped away, leaving Penny alone with herself in her new rooms.

The emotional mask Penny had been holding to her face fell instantaneously with the popping noise of Poppy's disapparation. The disheartening spirit of her depression took over, and suddenly the room around her felt as if it was crashing down upon itself. Though the room remained, Penny dropped to her knees. 

Penny’s illness began to take control. It felt empty, an urging that what she was experiencing through her eyes wasn't real, and that the world itself was numb and unfocused. Nothing mattered. Her mouth tasted bitter. Her emotion felt overwhelming.

Penny’s mind snapped quickly to her survival tactics.

"What can I see," she asked the room.

 _The wood floor._ Her mind replied.

"What can I smell?" She seconded.

_Smoke from the fireplace._

"What can I feel?"

_The floor against my legs._

"What can I taste?"

_The bile in your throat._

Penny felt a precipitous urge to puke. She rushed into her bedroom's attached bathroom and heaved dryly as her legs gave out. Her stomach settled minutes later, and Penny cataloged the episode in her brain to share with her psychologist at a later date.

When her legs stopped tingling and she could move again, Penny shuffled into her new bedroom once more and beelined for the large compact disc player on a dresser by the bed. She was glad to have included electrical outlets in her room design. Her muggle technology wouldn't work with magical energy for whatever reason, and though she didn't know how the outlets had been built into a castle like Hogwarts, she tried not to question it.

Her remainder of her disc collection stood faithfully by the player, and she pulled out a classical CD and slid it into place. As the ministrations of a soft, rain-like piano filled the room, she pulled out of her now stiffening formal robes and into a very large brand shirt that fell against her thighs as if it were a dress. Mechanically, she pulled a pill box from her luggage, which sat in the corner of the room, and swallowed three small white pills dry.

She crawled into the round bed, feeling smaller and smaller by the moment, and willed herself to close her eyes.

An hour later, the tribulations of her mind quieted, and she slipped willingly into the sweet nothingness of slumber. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivia:  
> \- The songs Penny listens to on the train ride are "Kiss Me" from Sixpence None the Richer and "Every Morning" by Sugar Ray. The CD from her room is playing Gymnopodie #1.  
> \- Wizarding Daily is my version of American magical newspaper, but more along the lines of a gossip mag (think US Weekly with magic).  
> \- Penny's full name is based on the meanings of my own full name because I'm extra.


	2. Penny Holbrooke and the Horrible, Terrible, No Good, Very Bad First Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penny holds her first day of classes and finally meets Professor Snape formerly, but everything seems to go wrong.

Penny awoke abruptly a few hours after she'd fallen asleep to the sound of static wafting out of her stereo. The boxy gray machine seemed to whine her out of her groggy stupor, and she rolled out of the comfort she felt in her new bed to switch the belletristic disc out for something a little more complex and modern. Light drums and cloudy chords spilled out of the speakers as she walked off towards the bathroom, intent to shower off the sweaty film of an anxious night's sleep.

She'd dreamed of falling, then running away from something she couldn't quite remember the figure of. She'd been weak and useless in her dream, and the fatigue in her limbs reminded her of the feelings she'd experienced.

Penny eventually managed into her cheery, amber robes after rinsing out toothpaste from her mouth into the sink, and a pair of simple nude flats as she made her way into the adjoining office. Her stomach growled insistently, reminding her of the night before when she'd snuck out of the welcoming feast.

She didn't feel as lively as her reflection presented her to be when she looked into the full-length mirror by the office door - her damp blonde hair was sticking out in odd angles again - but she pinned a pair of simple drop earrings into her pierced ears and hurried out the door anyways, hearing the lock wondrously click behind her as she walked towards the kitchens.

Judging by the fading darkness outside the windows of the lower castle levels, Penny judged the time to be somewhere in the early morning. She berated herself for forgetting her watch in her office and sped up her pace until she was standing directly outside the kitchen portrait that Poppy the house elf had shown her the night before.

She raised her hand to knock, but the picture swiftly opened to reveal Poppy herself, a tray in hand loaded with a simple bran muffin, bread pudding, and a banana, with a steaming cup of something or another resting neatly by the food-filled plate. 

"Coffee with hot chocolate mixed in, Ms. Holbrooke," Poppy mused, handing the piping drink to Penny with a bony hand. 

The gesture would have made Penny cry on a worse day, and she let the warmth of the mug seep into her hands as she took a sip. "Good morning, Poppy," she croaked. 

"Headmistress told Poppy to give this, she did." Poppy pulled a folded piece of parchment from her potato sack dress as she expertly balanced the tray. "Important to read." 

Penny absentmindedly wondered if she could convince her mother to knit something a little warmer for the house elf, and took the paper from Poppy. The parchment was slightly wrinkled, but Penny opened it in her free hand and squinted down at the print on the page. 

_Ms. Holbrooke,_

_Please meet me in my offices before classes begin today. The password is "evanesco."_

_Sincerely,_

_Headmistress McGonagall_

The signature had the same familiar filigree that her instructional letter held, with looping m's and g's. Penny placed the letter in her breast pocket and took another sip of her drink before returning her attentions to the house elf before her. "Is the food for me as well?" Penny asked.

"It is, missus." Poppy replied. The house elf transported the tray away with a snap of her fingers. "In your room, it will be. Quite urgent it is to see you, Headmistress says."

Penny grumbled unhappily, but thanked Poppy immensely for her help and padded off towards the third floor where the entrance to the Headmaster's Tower stood, statued in bronze. Her stomach growled loudly in defiance as she passed the main hall, but she continued onward until she stopped before a great, burnished griffin statue which seemed to cluck at Penny's arrival. 

"It's a squib." No one said. Penny hoped dearly she wasn't experiencing an auditory hallucination. Could the griffin talk?

 Penny shook the thought out of her head."Evanesco," She offered. The coppery griffin began to rise and spin into the air, revealing a circulating set of stone stairs. It reminded Penny too much of a medieval elevator, and she waited a few moments until she heard a 'clunk' from the top of the short tower to begin her ascent on the staircase. 

The trek brought her upon a wooden door with a rounded top, which held an ornate knocker in its middle. Penny knocked it, gently. 

"Headmistress?" She called. The door was magicked open to reveal Headmistress McGonagall's rugose figure, quietly scratching away on a piece of parchment with a silver quill. The darkly-clad woman looked up from the piles of paperwork on her desk with a tired gaunt, looking as if she'd been awake all night.

"Good morning, Ms. Holbrooke," the headmistress greeted shortly, "please take a seat."

Penny briskly made her way to a simple, green armchair in front of the headmistress' desk and sat, rubbing her fingers together nervously. Penny hoped she wasn't in trouble for leaving the latter day's feast early and felt a pit of anxiety begin the brew up in her stomach. 

"Thank you for coming quickly, Ms. Holbooke." McGonagall pursed as she pulled herself away from a stack of papers. "I'll get right to the point, as I haven't much time." The woman put down her glittering quill, and then pushed the metallic reading glasses on her nose back up to their place.

"As you are a squib, I understand you may not know all of what occurred here in the past few years and have put it upon myself to compile as much knowledge as I can on the subject." McGonagall pulled a heavy, leather-bound book from the first compartment in her desk, and handed it to Penny with a lean, white hand. "I would have given them to you at the end of the yesterday's feast, however," McGonagall sighed, "you disappeared if memory serves me correctly."

 "My apologies, Headmistress." Penny said as her anxiety doubled, "I didn't mean to cause you any trouble."

McGonagall must have recognized the look of complete uneasiness in Penny's face, as a moment later the headmistress' hands clasped together and her eyes softened towards the petite woman in front of her. With a wave of her hands, the papers on her large desk began assembling themselves into neat piles that floated away into a nearby filing cabinet. 

"It is of no concern, Ms. Holbrooke." McGonagall replied, "and please, call me Minerva. I do so hate formalities outside of the classroom."

* * *

 

Penny looked over the large leather book before her last class of the day began, skimming the pages towards the back of the book as she aimed to finish it before her last class came through in the afternoon.

So far, she'd learned that both Wizarding wars had been the result of a prophecy gone amok, which had resulted in the destruction of two sets of parents, the Potters and the Longbottoms, and then the end of the Dark Lord for a short time. Two of her students were the children left from the destruction - Harry and Neville, whom she'd met the day before - and had aided heavily in defeating the returned Dark Lord during the Battle of Hogwarts. 

Harry she knew by the famous moniker, "The Boy Who Lived, " but she'd never bothered to read much into Britain's wizarding news during the time, as she'd been engrossed in studying for her Master’s in a university in America. She couldn't imagine the trauma the boy must have gone through; every entry in his school portfolio consisted of one or more life-threatening events, riddled with death and dismay. His parents died, his relative abused him -  _oh god, is his original acceptance letter really addressed to a cupboard under a set of stairs_  - and he'd been a target for murder most of his life.

All this because of a prophecy some kooky Divinations teacher made in a bar!

She gawked as she continued reading: Neville's parents were rendered insane by cruciatus and resided in Saint Mungo's, Luna - sweet Luna who’d helped her to the train - had been held prisoner and tortured, Hermione Granger obliviated her own parents to save them then suffered the same fate as Luna. The only one who seemed to lack a history of gloom and despair was Ron Weasley, but upon turning the page Penny discovered that he'd lost a brother to the war and broke.

As an adult, she was infuriated at the pain and anguish all these children, young, barely twenty-year-old children had been through in their lives at Hogwarts. It was the job of any proper adult to protect children and shield them from harm; the job of every Hogwarts professor and even the castle itself. That so many children had been subjected to such trauma and tragedy was unacceptable.

But, that was war, Penny supposed. War was ugly, and war didn't care about age.

She placed the book in her desk drawer, unable to continue reading for the time being. 

Minutes later, a giggling gaggle of third years streamed in through from the showroom into the main classroom, placing down textbooks and writing implements as they took their seats. The class was soon full save for a seat in the second row, left empty without a warm body to fill it.

"Good afternoon, class." Penny greeted for the fourth time that day, plugging in her projector into one of the new electrical outlets in the classroom. The machine rumbled to life softly, hooked up to Penny's clunky laptop to present a PowerPoint filled with information about the Muggle world. "Welcome to Intermediate Muggle Studies. I am your professor, Ms. Holbrooke, and I would like to ask all students not to use magic in my classroom, as it interferes with my equipment. Please pull out your paper and quill, as I expect you to take notes during my class; I will be testing you on this material."

Some of the third years grumbled at that, but Penny continued.

"Today, I will be reintroducing you to the Muggle world, including explanations of Muggle culture and society in the various parts of the world. While some of you may be familiar with these concepts from previous classes or simply from personal life, I make it a point in my class to set up an understanding of the subject's basis before getting into a hardier material."

With a click of her controller, the presentation flicked into view, showing an image of multiple cartoonish Muggle faces from a number of societies and cultures. Each held a flag in their hands, representing peoples from different countries, religions, and ways of life.

"Muggles, or No-Majs as Americans call them, are individuals without magical powers who live outside of our wizarding world," Penny explained. "They normally believe that magic is a myth, and make use of technology, science, and even religion to replace magic in their societies." The slide faded into a collage of technology and religious symbols.

Penny continued her lecture for a good hour as her students took notes until the door opened to reveal a third-year boy in red and gold colors who darted into the empty seat near the front of the room. Penny did her best to ignore the late entry until one of the front row students turned around and began whispering loudly.

"Are you alright, Alexander? What happened?"

"He-" The boy blubbered, "Professor Snape made me stay after class and yelled at me for thirty minutes because I minced the bicorn horn instead of dicing it!"

"Oh, Alex, I'm so sorry!"

"I hate Potions!" The boy cried quietly. "Professor Snape singled me out and made me feel like an idiot the whole class! I don't mean to mess up!" The boy's eyes began to water uncontrollably, and he pressed his face into his hands. "I wish I had just moved to Australia with my parents instead of coming to Hogwarts!"

"It's just the first day, it's got to get better!" The first-row student reasoned. "Maybe he's just in a bad mood."

The boy just cried. The girl thought for a moment, and then her eyes went wide.

"I can make bubbles!" The young girl cheered to her sad friend. "I learned the spell for it in Charms today. Would you like to see? I bet it would cheer you right up!"

Before Penny could stop her, the small student shouted "bullesco," and bubbles streamed out from the honeyed tip of the young girl's wand to the astonishment of her classmates and her teary-eyed friend. The small soapy circles floated out into the room, and one of the globules floated onto the projection screen and disappeared as it made contact with the white sheet. Penny noticed another of the clear orbs making its way towards the projector and lurched forward to pop it before it hit the machine. She barely made it but watched in relief as the bubble popped under the pressure of her finger. 

**POP!**

Penny's relief broke apart. She'd missed a second one. The woman watched in horror as her projector began to vibrate, letting out a kettle-like scream before it all but collapsed upon itself. She could feel tears begin to form as she thought over her sentimentality with the object: it had been her mother's.

 _Don't show them your weakness!_ Her mind screamed.

Penny's anxiety flared. The room suddenly felt smaller, and the windows made her feel exposed instead of warm. Penny placed the projector's controller down and summoned the little control she had left to utter out, "That will be all. The class is dismissed."

The third years cheered, filing out of the classroom with an inaudible fanfare as Penny sat at her desk and ushered her tears of frustration and humiliation back as far as she could. Her previous classes had gone just as well. Students would use spells in her classroom, though she'd asked them specifically not to and had caused her projector to conk out from the spells used in its vicinity. She'd managed to fix it each time, but the fact that the projector had finally broken after its fourth interaction with magic was unsurprising. 

It took a witch or wizard with exemplary skills to enchant Muggle objects to work around magic, and a witch or wizard Penny was not. She'd have to fix the machine by hand: take it apart, replace circuitry and reflector bulbs.

Penny grumbled and instead left the confines of the main classroom to explore the antechamber that led into the corridor-like room, which was filled with Muggle artifacts. She'd been replacing some of the objects with updated versions throughout the day, seeing as many of the things in the room could very well be charmed by magic which would further interfere with the machines in the next room.

"Might as well keep going," she muttered to the empty room. She pulled one of the empty cardboard boxes she'd built from the corner of the room and continued pulling various Muggle relics from their glass displays: abacuses, cassette tapes and players, brick-like portable phones and even a grungy-looking keytar, which brought a giggle out of her. 

She stopped, however, when she came upon a display that held a beautifully kept board game, which caught the light that shone through the windows of the antechamber and glowed.

The game was a chess set; it looked expensive and was impeccably well-preserved, with solid silver chess pieces and a rather ornate board set next to what Penny assumed was the storage case. Penny couldn't tell if it was charmed or altered by magic though, and decided sadly that it was best to store the set away with the other relics from the showroom. 

Penny lifted the glass cover and placed it gingerly on the floor beside her, before collecting the silver chess pieces and placing them in a velvet bag that she found inside the adjoined case. With the pieces put away, Penny lifted the board, but stopped in her tracks. There, on the bottom of the board was a simple inscription:

_To our professor with love. I hope you'll display it when I graduate!_

_Lily J. Evans_

The only former professor of Muggle Studies that Penny knew of was Charity Burbage, whom McGonagall had mentioned at the previous night's feast; Penny thus assumed that the set had been given to Charity by a former student if the mention of graduation meant anything.

The petite woman wondered if she could check the school records and perhaps find if a student by such a name had attended the school. She'd much rather return the set to its gifter than put it away in the classroom's storage closet now that she knew where the game had come from. She resolved to ask the headmistress the next time she saw her.

With the set carefully placed in its storage case, Penny carefully placed the square lid on the set but soon noticed a silver glint on the carpet. A single chess piece had escaped her hands and fallen to the floor, and Penny bent down to pull a glimmering knight into her hand.

At that moment, the door to the showroom opened and a grim-looking professor glided in, his black cloak flapping behind him. Penny recognized him from the feast the day prior - Severus Snape.

Her anxiety bubbled up once more as the man looked straight into her eyes emotionlessly. He didn't seem to register her presence for a moment until all at once his expressionless face faded into one of displeasure. "Ms. Holbrooke." He stated plainly, smoothing a crease from his sleeve. He seemed unhappy to see her.

"Hello, Professor Snape." Penny greeted, hurriedly bringing herself to her feet. Penny extended her right hand out in greeting but was not requited with the man's own hand. Snape instead glared at her, and Penny was absently reminded of the teacher's she'd had as a child.

Penny was also reminded of the small-faced student from her fourth period who'd been upset because of their previous class, which had been...yes, potions. Surely the man couldn't be as cruel as she'd heard? Penny knew children often exaggerated when upset. 

"One of my students just informed me that you seem to be... _changing_ the Muggle artifacts in the chamber," Snape explained instead.

Penny nodded and smiled politely. "I am. The collection in here is almost a half-century old; I felt it would be best to update it."

Snape's line of sight shifted to the boxed Muggle chess set on the display beside them before he continued speaking.

"This student also cautioned that your class was...unintelligible." Snape gibed, as he walked up to Penny. "I frankly do not see the point of hiring a  _squib_  for this position, regardless of how appropriate Minerva seems to think you are."

 _He's prejudiced._ Penny sarcastically cheered.  _Great!_  

The man loomed over Penny's small figure, his shoulders beginning where Penny’s height ended. Penny's smiling facade did not break, though her feelings did at the dripping disdain in Snape's avowal. She steeled herself, regardless; she'd been through worse than this growing up.

"You're perfectly allowed to your  _opinion_ , Mr. Snape." Penny bit back. 

"Surely it's more than an  _opinion_ , Ms. Holbrooke." Snape snapped in return. "I and many others find it impossible for a  _squib_  to truly fill the requirements in the position." 

"The requirements of this position,  _Mr. Snape,_  are to teach students about Muggle culture and life. As I have lived in it for the past thirty-so years, I find myself to be perfectly qualified." The words in Penny final statement seeped with restrained anger. "I will not have you belittling me in my own classroom for something I have had absolutely no control over. I have been hired, whether it pleases others or not."

Snape let out his seemingly usual sneer to Penny's logic, brushing past her to look at the changes to the room until he noticed the top of a silver chess' knight sticking out from her left fist. Snape seemed to instinctively try to snatch it from Penny's grip with a snarl, which Penny gripped tightly in reflex. She pulled back and stepped quickly away from the potions master.

"Don't  _touch_  me!" Penny yelled as she shrunk in on herself, wildly uncomfortable with the man's momentary contact against her hands. The short pressure threw her mind back, and she could almost feel the slimy grip of her former fiancé upon her wrist.

Penny's shout seemed to surprise Snape as well, as his wits came back to him and the animalistic expression on his face melted back into a look of dubiety as he pulled away. "I apologize." He grunted. "I do not know what came over me."

Penny studied the stout man's eyes and found nothing suggesting a lie, yet her instincts shouted otherwise.

 _He doesn't mean it._ She thought.

Penny's expression formed into a thin line on her face at that simple thought, while her mind puzzled together the man's reactions. He'd sneered at her the moment he had stepped into the room as if expecting someone else. He'd chided her, insulted her, and then tried to pry one of the previous occupant's belongings from her hands without reason.

It all slid into place quite nicely in Penny's mind as she remembered the inscription on the chess set itself, and for the umpteenth time in the past two days, she wanted to cry from humiliation.

"You were friends with the previous teacher, then, weren't you?" Penny finally challenged, shaking with disquiet. "Ms. Burbage?"

Snape's acrimony crashed for a moment, as his eyes flashed with what Penny could only describe as regret - mixed with something else - before returning to what seemed to be their normal disdain. "Yes," he replied curtly. 

Penny felt herself going through the motions again. She knew what it felt like to lose a friend; maybe she'd judged Snape incorrectly. She pulled from the pool of empathy within her and tried to fix the situation with kindness.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Penny began but knew almost immediately she'd chosen the wrong words when Snape's face immediately contorted and he roared:

"I don't need your  _pity,_ Ms. Holbrooke!"

Penny recoiled for the second time during her encounter with Snape, and the disasters of the day became the center of her psyche. She struggled harshly to keep control over the wetness of her eyes as she felt the anxiety of her visit with McGonagall, the bitter dissympathy of the whole of her classes, and now the utter disinterest - even despisement - of a fellow teacher pile so very high upon her mind.

 _He doesn't mean it,_ a gentle voice in the back of her mind allowed.  _He's just in pain._

Penny clung tightly to that bit of kindness until it was overrun by a myriad of intrusions that cried out,  _he means every word!_ Convincing herself of the worse, Penny knew she wouldn't be able to hold back the emotional waterfall for long.

"You should have this, then," Penny submitted quietly, shoving the rest of the small silver horse into the taller man's pale hands before stalking out of her classroom, hot tears of shame, embarrassment, and frustration forming in her eyes. Her cheery yellow cloak flowed behind her, the irony of its hue lost to threatening sobs.

* * *

 

 Penny sat quietly in her chambers many hours later, just barely holding herself together with nothing more than a pair of clunky headphones and a disc player. 

In her mind, she saw the dark, angry eyes of Severus Snape as he stood above her and felt the pain of his hands scraping her own; the man's black eyes melted viciously into an abusive and disparaging brown as her ex-fiancé laughed in her ears and smiled at her face, pulling her harshly to him as he placed his lips upon her own. Penny shook violently and scratched roughly at her scarred wrist, wanting desperately to cut the thoughts out.

She looked towards the bathroom, thinking of the emotional release a razor could give to her. She could punish herself, bleed out the guilt of her imperfections and faults with a thin line down her arm.

It could be so simple. Just a walk into the bathroom to pick up the sharp line of silver. Just a cut would be all she needed.

_Just one cut._

Instead, Penny took her headphones off, walked slowly over to her bedside table, and pulled a small Nokia phone out of the drawer. She opened the phone and surprised herself to see that her service bars were full. She pressed her third speed dial and listened for the call to connect.

_"Dr. Mallaide Hans' office, Julie speaking. How can I help you today?"_

"Hello, Julie." Penny sniffed, "It's Penny. Penny Holbrooke?"

 _"Penny!"_ The woman on the line cheered, _"Of course. How are you doing,'hun?"_

"Pretty terrible, to be honest. I hate to bother you, but is Dr. Mallaide free for a call? It's a bit of an emergency."

_"She is, actually; an appointment just canceled. Would you like me to see if she'd be alright with a call?"_

"Please?"

_"Of course, sweetheart. Just gimme a sec."_

The phone clicked for a moment, then went silent. Penny took the time to look around the room and marvel at the fact that it was still tidy.

 _"Hey, Penny."_  A familiar voice finally said,  _"It's Dr. Mallaide. What going on?"_  

"Hey, Ms. Mallaide." Penny broke. "I-I'm sorry to call you out of the blue like this, but I feel like cutting right now. I need your help."

_"I understand, Penny. Are you in a safe space?"_

"Yes," Penny replied.

_"Alright. Walk me through what brought you to this point, so we can work through it and get you to a better state of mind."_

"Well," Penny began, "I had my first day of classes at that new school I told you about, in Scotland? And I was so excited about everything this morning because I've wanted to be at this school since I was little, but the whole day had just been horrible."

_"I see. What happened that made it so horrible?"_

"First, my equipment kept shorting out because of stuff the students did - not on purpose, I don't blame them - but the projector my mom gave me broke down during the fourth period, and I felt like I was just failing my students, and -" Penny stopped short.

_"And? What else?"_

"One of my new coworkers: he's a war veteran, but he's just so bitter. He sneered at me during dinner last night, and then verbally accosted me in my own classroom because he doesn't approve of me. He said he and a bunch of other people think I'm not qualified for the position, and then when he saw I was putting away the previous professor's chess set - she died a year back, and they were friends - he tried to grab it out of my hands. His touch..."

_"Did it remind you of Chad?"_

"Yes," Penny admitted. "I had a flashback. For a moment, it was like Chad was touching me."

_"How did that make you feel?"_

"Scared. Disgusted. Afraid. I felt powerless. I walked out of the room sobbing."

_"I'm sorry you had to experience that, Penny. Do you feel like this coworker meant to upset you?"_

"I don't know. Maybe? He's prejudiced towards me and seems to be mean to the other students, but I've read about the things he's done during the war and I just don't know."

_"Trauma can do a lot to people, and it's different for everyone. I'm not saying I'd excuse his actions and words towards you, but it's likely the war had a large toll on him."_

"Yeah." Penny agreed. "I don't want to hate him, but the thing is when I tried to empathize with him about the late professor he just snapped. He was practically screaming at me that 'he didn't need my pity,' and I just shoved the chess piece I was holding into his hands and ran out."

_"I know you're a very empathetic person, Penny, and to have that turned on its head must have been very painful for you."_

"It was, Dr. Mallaide. I feel so horrible. I just want to fit in at my new job but it's the first day and I already seem to be failing. I miss home, and my family and friends. Maybe I should have never accepted this position. Maybe...maybe he's right."

_"This is your dream, though, Penny. I remember how excited you were when you told me you'd accepted your new job. Do you really think one person's opinion is worth what you've been wanting to do your whole life?"_

Penny quieted at her psychologist's reasoning. Did she want a repeat of what happened with Chad to happen here? To give up something she'd dreamed of, just to make other people happy? 

Penny thought back to her disastrous relationship with her ex-fiancé, Chad. She thought of how she'd given up so many firsts in her life for him, how he'd used her for her body and forced her into things she'd never wanted to do. Her tears crested and streamed down her face as she remembered the utter and complete abuse he'd given her in exchange for her sincere love.

"No, it's not." Penny growled through tears, "He's not worth throwing this away. I really want to teach here."

_"You're so right, Penny. I hope you never let someone's anger and bitterness get in the way of you doing what you love. You deserve much more than that."_

Penny laughed slightly at her doctor's compliment, not sure if she truly believed it. 

"Thank you, Dr. Mallaide. I feel better."

_"Great. Let's cover our bases and talk about your classes today; you said you felt like you were failing your students. What do you think you can do to change that? What do you want your students to take from your classes?"_

"I want them to enjoy them, I just don't know how to do that. My lessons seem so boring now that I think about them; I mean, I hated lectures and here I am giving them to teenagers as a learning device. And tests, oof. I hated tests."

_"Well, what was your favorite part of school when you were their age?"_

"I loved movie days. It's part of the reason I took up theater as a hobby."

_"Well, could you incorporate that into your classes? I know film covers a variety of topics, and I'm sure there's a movie that would fit your subject matter."_

Penny smacked herself. Of course, she could have used film to explore Muggle topics! In fact, it was probably the best and most interesting way she could explore technology and culture in a way her students would enjoy. 

"I didn't even think of that." She admitted. "I could even replace tests with discussion and critical essays; that way, I could have my students thinking about the subject in relative and intelligent manners, instead of just getting them to regurgitate information from a lecture. They'd definitely connect with it more, for certain."

_"That's an excellent step forward; I know I'd definitely enjoy a course like that!"_

There was silence on the other end before Dr. Mallaide asked:

_"Do you still feel like cutting, Penny?"_

Penny smiled. "Not anymore. Thank you so much for helping me figure myself out, Dr. Mallaide."

_"I'm always here to help you, Penny. Follow your dreams, okay?"_

"I will, 'doc." Penny looked down at her wristwatch and noticed it was almost time for dinner. "I have to go now, Dr. Mallaide. It's almost time to eat, and all this crying and anguish has made me hungry."

_"Alright, Penny. Would you like to book a phone appointment for later next week, just to check up?"_

"Yeah. I'll call Julie in the morning and see when I'm available."

_"Good. Talk to you soon, Penny."_

"Bye, Ms. Mallaide."

 The call disconnected, leaving Penny with the beeping dial tone of an ended call. She replaced the flip-phone to its place in her nightstand and went off to the bathroom to freshen up and wash the tear stains off her cheeks. 

She looked to her razor, still feeling a longing for a cut’s release, and closed the restroom door behind her as she left the room.

* * *

 

Harry Potter was not in a good mood.

He had woken that morning feeling light and cloudy, like nothing was quite the way it should be, and even now at dinner, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something about the school wasn’t right anymore.

The tight feeling that had overtaken him on the train the day before had seeped into his dreams. He couldn’t remember much: a green light, a laugh, a snake’s hiss, and a cloud of white. He had woken uncomfortable and covered in sweat and had spent the rest of the day anxious and jumpy.

His best friends were all clustered around beside him, Ron on his left and Hermione on his right. The two had taken to sandwiching Harry between them after the battle, whether due to a sense of protectiveness towards him or a way to keep their hands off of each other Harry did not know.

Hermione had a large book out in front of her, as usual. Today, it was the newest Transfiguration textbook, with highlighted sections and sticky notes covering the page Hermione was on.

“Harry, would you like some of the cranberry juice?” Hermione asked as she poured herself a glass. Harry nodded wordlessly still lost in thought, pushing a hand out to take the cup Hermione offered out in response.

Their hands knocked, however, and the glass of juice tipped over and spilled onto the table and Harry’s clothing.

“Harry!” Hermione yelped, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean-“

Harry looked down at the stains on his robe, watching as they set into dark splotches against the knit of his sweater, and suddenly felt his breath leave him. The splatter of the cranberry juice against his jumper looked too much to Harry like the dark stains of the blood that had covered much of the Great Hall’s floor month prior.

In an instant he saw Remus and Tonks, Fred, Lavender – all of the people who had fought and died for him lying on the table before him with lifeless, gaping eyes staring out at him.

 A rush of adrenalized panic overtook Harry, and Harry’s chest and head began to throb in a painfully familiar way as he tried desperately to take control of himself, wheezing frantically as he tried to catch his breath.

* * *

 

Penny barely managed to make it the main hall for dinner that night, as she still looked like she'd been crying fiercely even after washing her face and reapplying her mascara. Her cheeks were puffy and her eyes were tinged a slight pink, but she had little excuse to skip dinner, so off to the main hall she went.

The dinner that night had consisted of a number of noodle and meat dishes, including spaghetti, which Penny was currently twirling onto a fork and devouring. It was absolutely scrumptious; the house elves seemed to outdo themselves with every meal they made. She remembered the food that Poppy had given her that morning and hoped that the pattern of deliciousness would continue.

Snape was sitting next to her, to her discomfort, but Penny did her best to pretend that the misgivings of that day had not happened and kept her eyes and her attention on her food. 

Penny thought about her plans to replace her lecture with film material: she'd scoured through her movie collection before she'd come into the great hall, and had picked out a dozen films about Muggle life that could give her class the introspective change that she'd wanted. She'd decided to start off with films that explored the topic of magic from a Muggle point of view. Though some were a tad on the silly side, she knew her students would enjoy them.

 _Maybe I should try and incorporate Muggle theater as well_ , Penny wondered, as she put another fork full of spaghetti into her mouth.  _I know I'd love to see the students read Shakespeare, especially the comedies._

Penny's thought was interrupted when the chatter and bustle of the main hall suddenly stilled as a voice cried out from the Gryffindor tables, "Help! He- Harry can't breathe!"

Penny snapped up to see one of the students at the Gryffindor table - the red-haired, freckled boy she’d seen sitting next to Harry Potter the night before - standing over Harry's shivering form at the Gryffindor table, a look of panic blatant on his face. Without thinking, Penny leaped from the head table and tunneled towards Harry before any of the other teachers could react, shooing the crowd away from where the young man was sitting with his head in his hands. He was hyperventilating with tears streaming down his face.

Penny immediately pulled the teen boy up against her side and hurried him out of the hall, followed closely by Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley, both panicked and frightened for their friend.

"Harry," Penny fussed, "It's Ms. Holbrooke, from the train? I can help. Would you like me to help you?" Penny urged him onto a nearby stone bench. Harry painfully keened with a hand place above his heart. "Please." He whispered. "Please, it hurts."

"Okay," Penny gripped onto his shoulders and kneeled. "I'm going to count in sets of threes and fives. I want you to breathe as best you can with the beats, but it's okay if you can't manage it."

Harry nodded faintly as he clutched at his chest.

"One, two, three." Penny counted. Harry breathed in. 

"One, two, three, four, and five." Harry breathed out.

Penny continued the counting for a few minutes until Harry's breathing evened out and the look of fright on his face began to fade. She took the moment to call out for Poppy, who appeared with a faint noise and looked diligently at Penny, who asked her to please get a mug of hot chocolate for the boy. The house elf popped away to complete the task.

"Harry, tell me something you can see, and something about it." Penny directed, looking into Harry's green eyes.

"I-" Harry's voice was hoarse and his eyes darted about. "I can see your hair. It's blonde." 

"Good," Penny said. "Tell me something you can hear."

Harry's right ear twitched slightly. "It's quiet," he said, "I can hear myself breathing."

"Something you can feel," Penny continued. Harry swallowed thickly and replied, "your hands on my shoulders. It's a bit tight."

"Okay, good. Great." Penny loosened her grip and felt the air burst next to her as Poppy appeared with a steaming cup of brown liquid on a platter.

"Last thing, Harry," Penny said, as Poppy handed the boy the mug. "Tell me something you can taste."

Harry took the cup in his hands, the yellow ceramic complimenting his darker skin tone as he lifted it to his lips and took a sip. It seemed to break him out of the last of his panicked stupor, and he returned Penny's gaze.

"Chocolate." The boy said, a single tear falling from his eyes. "What just happened?”

“My guess?” Penny hummed. “Hyperventilation, shaking, increased rigor, and intense look of fear: panic attack," Penny said flatly. "More common than you'd think. I used to have them all the time when I was younger."

Harry looked away, his thumbs swirling about the mug of hot chocolate that was still in his hands. Penny noticed he was still shaking, however, and she crouched down to keep her eyes at Harry's level. "They're usually the result of trauma or anxiety issues, which happen to millions of people all over the globe. It doesn't make you any less normal, and it’s not strange or weird. It's just a part of life for a lot of people, and with the right treatment you can learn ways to help bring yourself out of them."

"It felt like I was dying. I was scared." Harry admitted. He was frustrated about it, and his grip on the mug tightened. 

"I wish I could tell you that doesn't normally happen, but it does. Panic attacks usually make you feel like the world is coming down on you. It can feel like you're dying, but nothing is physically wrong."

"Does it usually make your chest hurt?" Harry asked.

"It can," Penny answered. "The symptoms are different for everyone, just as the cause depends on the person. What triggered it, Harry? Can you tell me?"

Harry's gaze glued to the floor, and he didn't speak for a long while until a hesitant, "I remembered something," floated out from his lips. Penny related.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She asked, Harry’s friends listening intently over her shoulder.

Harry shook his head roughly, and Penny didn't press Harry any further. "Harry," Penny murmured regardless, "if you ever need to talk to someone, you can talk to me. I have a degree in psychology, and it made me a very good listener, I promise." 

Harry looked up to Penny with what seemed to be shock at her statement. It made Penny reel slightly, as she saw a bit of herself in the boy for the second time, and nothing could have prepared her for the small, genuine smile the boy gave to her in reply. "Thank you, Ms. Holbrooke," Harry replied. "I'll remember that. I think...I think I want to go now."

Penny choked up a bit as the boy stood up and handed her the now empty mug. He turned to the two persons who had followed them out of the hall and said:

"Ron? Hermione? Do you mind if we go back to the common room? 'm not hungry."

The two friends nodded.

"Of course, mate," Ron replied.

"Yes, Harry, of course." Hermione uttered.

The trio packed together and walked up a set of stairs nearby, both Ron and Hermione's arms slung across Harry’s back as they huddled against him. Penny was left standing purposelessly behind them. The empty feeling didn't last for long, though, as the influx of chatter slowly returned to the echoing room behind her and bled through the heavy door.

In fact, a warm smile grew upon Penny's face as she watched Harry's friends guide him up to the Gryffindor common room. She was desperately glad that the boy had such caring friends. It made her feel hopeful to see such empathy and compassion, and the gloominess of her day began to slowly melt away.

Motivationally renewed, Penny hurried back into the hall and finished off her plate of spaghetti, slipping out the back door of the hall to rush off to her classroom and fix her projector. 

She had a class to reinvigorate.

* * *

 

Severus Snape watched the scene quietly from behind a nearby pillar and disappeared into the dungeons long after the school’s newest professor had left the castle’s entryway with a smile on her face.

Perhaps, he thought to himself, he had been wrong about the squib. 

* * *

 

The next day, Penny smiled as seventh years filtered slowly into the classroom in the early morning, recognizing a few faces in the crowd. Harry and his friends were the last to enter, taking their seats respectively at the back of the classroom as Penny skipped up to the front after closing the door.

"Good morning!" Penny smiled, much more calmly than she had the morning prior, "and welcome back to Advanced Muggle Studies. Please put your wands away in your robes, and I will remind you all that there is not to be any magic used in my classroom."

Some of the students seemed affronted to this again, as Penny suspected they would. 

"Why, Ms. Holbrooke?" A large, roundish Slytherin asked from the middle of the room. Penny tutted lightly.

"Because," she explained, "magic and Muggle technology don't get along very well, and even the smallest spell with short out my equipment. If you'd like to fix it yourself, cast magic all you wish. You must have all heard what happened with the first years yesterday."

Her students seemed sated with that answer, and the clinking of wands being pulled off desks and into robe pockets commenced until not a wand was to be seen through the classroom. Satisfied, Penny continued her lesson.

"Today," she mused, "I will be introducing you all to the current Muggle pop culture."

Penny gave the projector a good smack, and it puttered into steady life as it shined the starry sky of a company logo that swirled with a planetary flare, a grand orchestration following behind it. Penny paused the video with her controller with a swift movement and turned back to a group of bored seventh years. 

She'd fix that boredom soon enough. 

"Part of understanding Muggle culture is understanding their society; you can best understand that through popular culture." Penny coughed. "At the moment, the most reflective part of my culture - Muggle culture, pardon - is film. The film I will be showing you today is created by Muggle individuals, from the videography to the music."

The eyes of Penny's students seemed to widen, and then Penny noticed a bushy, brown-haired student writing diligently on a piece of parchment and chuckled to herself.

"You will not be taking notes during the movie - thank you, Ms. Granger, for your enthusiasm, but quill away please - as I want you to enjoy yourselves. The point of Muggle theater and film is to elicit emotional responses; I want you all to experience that first-hand without distractions.

This movie is one of my very favorites, as it is considered to be a marvel of its day and age not only because of its excellent filmography but due to the attitudes pertaining to individuals of color at the time. Though many of you may not know it, race and ethnicity were largely disagreed upon during the time this film was released. Like squibs to wizards, people of color - blacks, Asians, any one not considered white - were largely turned away from the film industry and looked down upon. When this film was produced, it was entirely controversial because every character was of color.

It also looks at magic from a Muggle perspective and understanding - in this case benevolent and awe-inspiring, but not all-important. This doesn't reign true for all Muggle films, as magic is considered to be a myth by my society, but it is always a popular theme. We will use films throughout my class, and I expect you all to participate in the discussions we will have after the films to better explore Muggle culture and society that will replace the tests in my class.

I want you all to enjoy the film, but I'll understand if you don't. I look forward to hearing your thoughts afterward."

With that, Penny pressed play, and let the warm and colorful imagery of the film seep onto the screen, sitting back in her seat to enjoy the soulful orchestra spilling from the amplifiers riddled throughout the classroom. Save for Harry and Hermione and a few other muggle-born students, her seventh-year class looked on in awe as the film played before them.

With complete and quiet honesty, Penny smiled about it.

Her students, however, refused to talk about anything else for the rest of the week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank @imoriginalwoo and @Aluraceleste for their comments on the first chapter and all those lovely people who have already given this work kudos! I opened my email and saw all of it and went, "what the fuck?" It really gave me a lot of motivation to keep writing this fiction.
> 
> Thanks from the bottom of my heart for reading this filth. I'll try to update weekly if I can. It's kinda cathartic writing a character who shares so much of my past with me, so if I get behind, apologies. I routinely update the chapters as well, and I apologize if they change after they get posted. I don't have a beta, so...yeah.
> 
> Trivia:  
> \- The song that plays in the morning is definitely "No Rain" by Blind Melon. It eventually switches out to "Wonderwall" by Oasis in my memory, because there cannot be a story set in the nineties without it.  
> \- Coffee and hot cocoa powder mixed together are divine. I drink this concoction regularly.  
> \- The previous professor of Muggle Studies was canonically murdered by Voldemort while Snape watched helplessly. Yay! Her last words were, "Severus, please. We're friends."  
> \- Alecto Carrow doesn't count as a former professor because she was a fuck.  
> \- The movie Penny shows is "The Wiz," because I fucking LOVE IT. It's a theatrical masterpiece.  
> \- The moving to Australia thing is a joke that has to do with the chapter title.


	3. Penny Holbrooke and the Great Prophecy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new prophecy spurs out of America, and suddenly Hogwarts is more dangerous than Penny could ever have predicted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit about to get _good._ Also, period-insinuation is happening in this chapter. Don't like the female reproductive habits? Whoops for you, I guess.
> 
> You have been warned.

_“Look at them, honey.”_

_A tall man and a brown-haired woman stood calmly in front of the maternity ward’s care room, a heavy glass panel separating them from beds upon beds of small infants, their hands splayed against the glass as they looked in. The woman gingerly placed her hand on her rounded belly, sighing happily._

_“Soon, darling.” The man said kindly, watching a ward nurse walk into the room with a swaddled newborn in her arms, heading towards an empty bassinet on the far side of the room._

_Around them, the hospital bustled with life, nurses and patients intertwining along the hallways as they go about their days. The two were oblivious to it in their bubble of joy soon to come, placated by the sight of the children before them._

_The woman’s free hand eventually weaved into her coat pocket. “I really can’t wait, dear.” She said sweetly._

_The nurse placed the child down carefully, as the man and woman watched happily._

_“Now.” The man ordered as the nurse inside the room turned her back. The woman beside him opened a shimmering black flask in her hands, holding it up to the glass screen behind which several infants wiggled and cried as streams of white pulled out from their mouths, drifting up into the air and through the glass to be sucked into the flask._

_“Quickly.” The man hurried._

_“Hush.” The woman replied as the last of the white mist was dragged into the flask. She flicked it shut and stuffed it into her pocket as the nurse turned back around, smiling up and waving at the couple. They waved back and the man placed his hand gently on the brunette woman’s prominent bump._

_“Soon?” The woman smiled at the man._

_“Soon.” He replied._

* * *

 

Penny awoke in an extremely foul mood, as her stomach cramped and her back ached immensely when she rolled out of bed. She'd had another strange dream, this time with images of white clouds and misty moors, with vials and beakers and muffled voices. She rubbed her head, willing away whatever she remembered of it, before slowly standing up to get ready for the day.

She felt an immediate discomforting rush when she stood up and groaned aloud, walking over to her dresser and pulling a red bag from the bottom of the drawer before stalking off into the restroom to clean up.

“Why?” She later asked her body in the shower, to which she received no reply. She groggily dressed in her black professorial robes, marked her calendar with a red dot for the day, and then decided to skip breakfast upon discovering she was out of pain relievers in her emergency bag. She called out for Poppy, who appeared before her fireplace with a small ‘pip’.

“Hello, missus,” the house elf greeted, today garbed in a simple white pillow-case. “How can this humble Poppy help you today?”

“Poppy,” Penny asked shyly, “do you know where I could find some ibuprofen?"

Poppy looked at Penny quizzically, and Penny smacked herself internally: a house-elf would probably have no idea was ibuprofen was.

“Um…” Penny stammered, “pain medicine?”

The house elf's eyes lit up and she gave a tiny smile. “It’s Madame Poppy in the infirmary you want to see, yes. Good with pain, she is.” 

"Madame Poppy? Isn't your name Poppy?" Penny laughed at the coincidence.

"Yes, missus." Poppy cheered. "Another wonderful Poppy the Madame is! A much better Poppy, sweet and gentle. A Healer, yes. Go to see her.”

“Yes, um…” Penny laughed nervously, “where is she?”

Poppy smiled with a twinkled and grabbed a hold of Penny's hand, gently pulling her from her rooms and leading her out into the bustling castle without any discretion. The door to Penny’s office closed behind them with a soft click.

Around them, students were filing out of common areas and heading for the Great Hall, which Penny found smelled like cooked eggs and bacon today. Penny blanched and held a hand over her mouth and nose, hating the smell that affronted her as she passed by the hall with the pillow-cased Poppy.

The petite, pillowed creature eventually stopped at a double-doored entrance through a long hallway on the first floor, pushing the doors open with ease. "Here is the infirmary, missus Holbrooke. Poppy must go now; many breakfasts to be made."

With that, Poppy curtsied to Penny and snapped her long, tan fingers, disappearing with her signature ‘pop.’ Penny eyed the small cloud left behind in Poppy’s wake and turned her attention to the large, white room before her. 

“Hello?” Penny asked, walking in. No one seemed to be around, and Penny hoped she hadn't come at a time when the nurse witch was out. Her stomach ached again, and she doubled over slightly. "Ow..." She grumbled.

"I heard an 'ow.' What's happened this time?" A voice called out in aggravation. A tall, older mediwitch came out from behind a white curtain, holding a wand in her hand as she walked out. The woman was garbed in a red dress covered with a long white apron and a draped nurse’s cap that covered her curly, grey hair.

The woman locked her eyes on Penny and marched over.

"Yes?" The woman questioned seriously. "I'm afraid I'll need to ask who you are; I've never seen you before."

Penny cleared her throat nervously. "I'm the new Muggle Studies teacher, Pennleah Holbrooke. Call me Penny, please." Penny put her hand out for a shake, which the woman returned cheerfully.

"Oh, I’ve been waiting to meet you! I’m Madame Pomfrey, Hogwarts’s matron. Call me Poppy, dear.” The woman adjusted her apron. “Now, I need to start a file on you before I can help you; Minerva forgot to send you down for a physical before classes started. Let's see..."

The woman pulled out a creamy-hued wand and commanded a clipboard and paper to her, a nearby quill moving onto the paper for her as she began to quiz Penny.

"How old are you, Penny?" Pomfrey asked.

"Thirty-five."

"Have you had any children?"

"Not that I know of." Penny joked. 

“Any allergies?” Poppy inquired.

“Bandage adhesive gives me a bit of a rash, but nothing else.”

"Do you know your blood type? Any health problems I should know about?"

"I don't know my blood type, unfortunately. I was diagnosed with major depression when I was about twenty, and I've taken antidepressants ever since. I also take a sleeping aid; I have terrible insomnia without it. I get regular prescriptions from a doctor back in America."

Pomfrey wrote all of Penny's answers down dutifully. "Are you magical? Non-magical?"

Penny frowned. "Non-magical," she replied quietly. Madame Pomfrey caught the change in her emotions and quickly apologized.

"Oh, I'm sorry, dear. Some potions don't work on non-magical folk; I needed to know for medical sake. I'd ask the same of anyone I treated.” She gave Penny’s shoulder a comforting pat. “Now, just a quick diagnostic and we’ll be right as rain.”

Poppy zipped her wand upwards, and a lovely rose cloud expelled from its tip, floating over to Penny and down her petite body like a cool mist before turning a dull red at the start of Penny’s wrists, where her light skin was dotted with faint scars underneath the fabric of her robes.

“I have a lot of scars there,” Penny admitted at Poppy’s raised eyebrow. The mediwitch didn’t question it.

The spell finished its work, turning dull only once more at Penny’s left knee before dissipating at her feet. Poppy clapped her hands, and the enchanted clipboard and quill fell into Poppy’s hands.

“Well, that’s that.” The witch smiled. “What can I help you with, dear?”

“Do you have any pain relievers?” Penny questioned sweetly as another cramp hit her. “Its…” She gestured to her abdomen.

“Oh!” Pomfrey gasped out in a laugh, “of course, dear. This way.”

The woman led Penny through the hospital wing and into a room with shelves full of potions and vials. The nurse shuttled over to a shelf labeled  _Reproductive Health_  and looked about.

 "How has it been?" The mediwitch asked. "Light, heavy, medium? Any pain?"

"Medium, I think. My back hurts, I'm cramping like a beast, and I don't like looking or smelling eggs, but no pain other than the back and the cramps."

"Alright," Pomfrey pulled a vial of pink liquid off the shelf, and its shade reminded Penny heavily of Pepto-Bismal. "Take this," Pomfrey said, "and come back again tomorrow morning for another dose. It'll get you through the rest of the week with less discomfort."

"Oh, thank god," Penny broke, taking the vial from the mediwitch's hand and downing it in one go. Her cramps lifted almost immediately, and Penny breathed a heavy sigh of relief as her backache dulled out of existence. 

"Wonderful! From the look on your face, I'd say that worked like a charm; I used to use it myself personally." Pomfrey laughed, adding the administration of the vial to her notes.

"Thank you so much." Penny gave. "It did. I feel so much better."

"Lovely." Poppy flicked her wand, and the time popped up in the air. "Have you eaten yet, Ms. Penny?"

"No, I haven't. The smell of eggs almost made me throw up when I walked by."

Pomfrey frowned. "Now that won't do; come along. You can join me for breakfast since it'll be over soon in the Great Hall. I have it late and in the infirmary; too much to do around here to get there on time. I hope you like fruit salad and oatmeal."

 

* * *

 

Penny's flew through her morning classes with ease thanks to Pomfrey's potion, and eventually found herself in the Great Hall for an early lunch, with sandwiches and tea cakes spread about the hall on each table. A piping cup of black tea sat on a silver platter before her, paired with a turkey club and some chips that Penny had guiltily added to her plate.

She'd brought with her the mail she'd missed that morning, which she'd found on her desk during a break between classes. It consisted of three things: the first was a copy of the Daily Prophet, which's title page shown:

**The Final Kiss! The Death Eaters of the Wizarding War Are No More!**

Below the title lay a moving picture that held an anguished man trapped in a cell with his inner left arm exposed, almost foaming at the mouth at the photographer before him.  _Augustus Rookwood, the only loyal Death Eater left alive, stares down reporters as his dusking hour approaches, the ultimate punishment for his involvement with the Dark Lord during the Wizarding War. Rookwood's involvement included the murder of multiple Muggles and Muggle-borns during the Death Eater occupation of wizarding Britain last summer._

The sepia tones of the paper did little to flatter the man's features: his face was gaunt and covered in filth, with curled locks of hair sticking haphazardly to his face and his beard unkempt. His eyes pierced through the print of the newspaper as if to stare into the very soul of the reader, agony obvious in his face. His exposed arm shown the dark mark, faded but obvious against the stark tan of his skin.

_Rookwood worked as a spy for He Who Must Not Be Named in the Ministry's Department of Mysteries, and was present during the Battle of Hogwarts last May. After being defeated by the brother of the late Hogwarts headmaster, Aberforth Dumbledore, Rookwood was taken into custody and convicted of war crimes, murder, and use of illegal and dark magic, and thus forth sentenced to death by the Dementor's kiss, which he will receive later today._

_He leaves behind his son, Blaire Rookwood, age nineteen._

Penny felt sorry for the son, whoever he was. Stomach churning, she flopped the paper down on the table and moved onto her next piece of mail, the week's newest edition of  _Wizarding Daily_  from the United States.

**The Great New Prophecy: Fact or Fiction?**

The gossip mag had an official looking picture of a bisht-wearing Muslim man on its front cover, the man's head covered with a white cap and his hands clasped before him as if the photographer had caught him in the middle of a prayer. Penny didn't recognize the face at all but opened the magazine up to its cover article.

_Wizarding Daily gets the exclusive with American imam Busar El Masry on his new and prophetic vision of the future! What does it mean for you and your families?_

"Nothing," Penny replied under her breath. She shuffled her pile of mail to its third and final piece, a letter from Egypt.

Penny smiled as she ripped quickly into the letter, ignoring the looks she got from the other staff at the table. She pulled out a sandy-feeling letter from the envelope and unfolded it to see the scratchy lines of her older sister's handwriting. Penny's sister, Eraselena, was magical, three years older, and fascinated by history and ancient civilizations. The woman was currently at an archeological dig in the deserts of Egypt, funded by the Egyptian Magical Government and the Ministry of Magic. It had been weeks since Penny had last heard from her.

 _Penny_ , her sister wrote,  _strange things have started happening at the dig after we unearthed a scroll. It's from the time of the ancient magical Egyptians at the least, and when translated it mentions a relation between squibs and-_

**"No!"**

Penny's reading was interrupted when a blood-curdling scream rung out in the Great Hall. A student from the Slytherin table dropped to the floor in a dead faint as another boy who Penny did not recognize stood up with his wand outstretched towards the head table, his eyes and alder wand pointed directly to Severus Snape, Penny sitting defenseless beside him.

A copy of  _The Daily Prophet_ lay prone at the young man's feet, the photograph of Augustus Rookwood screaming up at the boy’s figure. Penny rushed with fear as her heart dropped; her sister’s letter fell from her hands as the hall turned into a frenzy of shrieks around her, older students pulling first and second years behind them as the wand-armed boy stalked forward towards the staff, his eyes dark and his features similarly piercing to the picture in the Prophet.

"It's your fault!" The boy shrilled at Snape, the wand in his right arm shivering with a furious anticipation. "You're the reason my father will be dead! You'll pay, you slimy shit!"

The boy swished his wand about as he cried, "diffindo!"

A heavy, dark red spell flew from the tip of the boy's jet wand, hurtling towards the head table directly to where Snape sat. Penny was sure she shouldn't be able to feel the magic in the spell, but there was an animosity that resonated from the curse that was almost palpable, and it chilled her with fear to her very core.

_It'll hit Snape!_

Penny instinctively snatched the silver tray that held her meal out from under its plates and saucers and screamed out, ready to throw the metal plating in front of the incoming curse to deflect it, not expecting the man beside her to jump from his seat and simply dodge the spell. Her shriek startled him, however, and the dark magic scraped his right hand; Penny saw the older man flinch but continue his defense.

 **"No!"** The boy screeched, launching another sickening spell at Snape. The man continued to masterfully deflect each injurious hex safely past the students and staff members around him before retaliating with a body-binding charm, rendering the attacking student immobile.

The older children in the Great Hall began to react, and one of the Ravenclaw seventh-years charged forth and shoved the seething, motionless boy to the floor, knocking a wand out of the culprit's hands as other students came to her aid. Within moments, the boy was pinned beneath five upper years of varying houses, screaming all the while various profanities and slurs about Professor Snape:

"You half-blood, traitorous, sniveling cock-sucker! You betrayed him! You betrayed our Lord! He trusted you! My father-"

Penny watched as Headmistress Minerva stormed over and charmed the child's tongue to the roof of their mouth, and the sounds from the boy became nothing but gags and sputters. The pandemonium of the room stopped abruptly, and the air filled with a still and stale silence.

Minerva took a rattled breath and looked out to the other students in the hall, all eyes upon her in a fearful precipice. 

 "Prefects-" The woman began but stopped herself mid-phrase. Instead, the headmistress pulled her fir wand up and opened the doors to the hall with a flick, swishing out a mist of warm, green magic into the castle. The spell turned a sickly black once outside the doors, and an eerie, freezing chill filled the Great Hall in response. The hair on Penny’s neck stood up as she felt the tell-tale prickle of nearby curses float through the room. Penny breathed out and saw her breath form in the air.

 “Children,” Minerva corrected with a foggy exhalation, “please remain in your seats.”

Penny internally screamed.

* * *

 

The boy - still trapped in a body bind and charmed mute - was eventually floated away by a member of the Aurors, who flooed into the school after Minerva had sent word through a house elf. The remaining children were chaperoned out by their house prefects and an Auror to their common rooms to remain until the entire school was swept by curse-breakers and other special operations agents. Snape and Minerva had been rushed off by the Head Auror to be interviewed on the attack, while Penny remained in the Great Hall with the rest of the staff, which was now a bedlam. Many of the professors were arguing with the Aurors guarding the door about when they could leave, while others remained in shock. Penny counted herself among the latter.

 _The Daily Prophet_  laid out before her once more, the screaming image of Augustus Rookwood stared harshly at her as she reached down to pick up her sister’s letter, which she held tightly to her chest until the hall doors opened after a tense half hour more, and Minerva strode in with an official-looking Ministry worker by her side. 

"The dungeons are off-limited until further notice," The headmistress announced, "as the Aurors and their curse-breakers have found multiple curses throughout the area. The curses are lower-level spells, but can still cause great harm to inexperienced students or certain members of our staff."

“What of the Slytherin students? Where will they stay if not the dungeons?” A man piped up.

“They will stay in the Hufflepuff common room for the time being; there is plenty of room.”

"How is he?" Flitwick asked. "Is the poor boy all right? Severus, I mean."

"He seems to have made it out unscathed. He is currently assisting in breaking the spells surrounding the castles' lower levels."

Penny let out a sigh a relief she didn't know she was holding at Minerva’s statement. The Ministry member beside the headmistress took over, reading from a large yellow notepad.

"The assailant was, unfortunately," the man gruffed, "one of your returning students. Mr. Blaire Rookwood, son of the now late Augustus Rookwood, as of Ministry records. We'll be arresting him officially as he is of age."

"What will the charges be?" Someone asked.

"Assault, use of dark magic, and premeditated murder to start. We found a number of written plans in his belongings. We'll see what else gets stacked up as we get down the road."

Penny had heard enough after that, and tensely asked the pressing question:

"May we leave the hall?"

The Ministry officer chortled. "Yes, as long as you avoid the affected areas. We'll have them up and running as soon as possible."

"Actually," McGonagall riposted, "I'd like to hold an emergency meeting with the Heads of House and anyone else who feels they have pertinent information on today's event. In my office, in five minutes time. That will be all."

The crowd of teachers began to disperse. Penny pulled together her newspapers and letters and pushed passed her colleagues, frantic to leave as quickly as possible and seek refuge in her rooms. Her heart was beating frantically, and a glimmer of rage and confusion pushed up into her stomach.

A child had attempted murder. An angry teenager, barely starting his life had thrown it away based on the teaching of a mad man. It burned her to her core.

She passed Aurors and curse-breakers alike, all spellbound and concentrating on the various area about the castle still chilly with magic. Their spells each flaunted a different color, equivalent to their state of mind; some a calm blue, some a tense grey.

It was beautiful, in a strange way.

As Penny approached the turn for the kitchen, she noticed Snape standing before the stairs to the dungeon, almost matching the shadows that played off the walls. He seemed fine, for the most part, using the right hand she had seen him injure in the duel an hour earlier to dance his wand this way and that about the space.

For some reason or another, Penny stopped in her tracks. She watched wordlessly as the darkly-garbed man weaved a soft, white magic from his wand, making an inky black cloud of magic appear before him. With conductor-like ministrations from his slender fingers, the black cloud slowly faded into the white before disappearing entirely, the curse that had settled there now broken.

It reminded Penny of a treasured memory from her childhood when she’d first watched her mother perform a spell; a calming cotton light had stretched from the tip of the woman’s wand and swirled about a pair of saucers that Penny had pushed off the counter and broken, weaving new life into the ceramic pieces until it was if they’ve never shattered.

 _“It’s all right, Penny,”_ Her mother had cooed, wiping away Penny’s guilty tears, “ _It’s all fixed now._ ”

It had been a simpler time for Penny then – magic had been a marvelous discovery that she’d one day get to explore and study. It couldn’t maim or injure, it couldn’t tear or snap. There was nothing magic, in all its power and glory, couldn’t repair.

Her eleventh birthday had proved her wrong, obviously. Magic had broken her heart then, and Penny wondered if she had ever truly forgiven it. Even after twenty-four years, the wound inside of her still felt fresh and raw.

It was just another dream that she’d never be able to see through.

With a dejected sigh, Penny remained apt to leave the potion’s professor to his spell-breaking and continued her walk towards the kitchens. Despite his obvious disdain for her, she still respected what he had done for the world during the Wizarding War and made the decision to simply keep her distance from him for the time being and leave it at that.

She stopped, however, when she heard a cry of pain and a clatter behind her. Penny turned back to see Snape gripping his right hand where she had seen him hit by residual magic, his wand on the floor beside him. Penny impulsively rushed over to the older man's side, a free hand out in front of her about to scrutinize his wound until he growled, "Get back!"

"Excuse me?" Penny questioned. "You're hurt!"

"I am not hurt, Ms. Holbrooke," Snape argued, gingerly picking up his wand. "A spoiled child's attempt of an attack could never injure me."

"But-" she babbled, "But your hand! You're holding it differently. I saw -"

"You saw incorrectly, Ms. Holbrooke, which does not surprise me. A  _squib_  like yourself could not possibly understand what just occurred."

"But-"

"That will be all, Ms. Holbrooke," the man sneered as he began walking away towards the lower dungeons.

Penny's shock shattered.

She thought of all the memories watching the professor work had conjured up – her eleventh birthday, crying desperately in her room. Admitting to her magical friends that she wouldn’t be attending Ilvermony with them, and the residual teasing and bullying that had stemmed from it.

Being a squib was something she had lived with for over two decades. She’d been called a No-Maj, a fake, a muggle, a weirdo, and a freak. Penny felt a wave of anger fill her at her colleague’s jab.

She should be used to this.

This shouldn’t affect her.

_This shouldn’t make me angry!_

Penny tried desperately to control herself - thinking of anything but her emotions, thinking of her call with her doctor the other day - but the inner turmoil that she'd felt about the attack on her coworker's life and her complicatedly angry feeling towards magic and its betrayal climaxed at Snape's final indignation; before she could stop herself, she exploded with rage.

"Look at me, you absolute  **fuck** ," Penny snarled, all pleasantries out the window as her adrenaline soared and her finger shakingly pointed at the man in response to his slur, "I don't give one-fucking-shit about your goddamn prejudice about squibs or Muggles or whatever the fuck is wrong with you, but I actually care about other people and I want to know if you're okay, for fuck's sake!"

Snape turned, absolutely gobsmacked at Penny's profanity while Penny continued to seethe and rant.

"Finally, you freaking react! It's like talking to a brick wall or a rabid dog most of the time with you. You- of course, you're not okay, there's blood dripping down your hand onto the floor-"

"Ms. Holbrooke, will you kindly shut up?" Snape snapped when his wits came back to him, his hand rushing to the bleeding extremity.

Penny did not, in fact, shut up. She alternatively became even more incensed.

"No!" She shouted. "No, you're going to the hospital wing this-fucking-second-so-help-me -  **don't you dare walk away from me-** " And with all her strength and adrenalized fury, Penny shoved her coworker out of the main hallway and towards the hospital wing. Snape turned on his heel to walk the other way, but Penny grabbed his wrist with a chemical strength and pulled him after her.

"Unhand me, Ms. Holbrooke!" Snape seethed, as he was dragged along the stony corridor by a woman almost half his size.

"No," Penny replied. Snape pulled out his wand in response, spell at the ready. Penny just kept walking along, Snape's wrist still firmly in her grasp.

"Go ahead, hex me." She dared. 

"I will have you arrested for assault!" Snape tried.

Penny scoffed. "This is hardly assault," she returned.

"Ms.  **Holbrooke!** "

"Just  **stop** trying to get out of this." Penny snarled, her grip tightening as her eyes began to sting. "I will keep dragging you, I will keep admonishing you, and I will keep hassling you until you shut up and comply. Stubbornness is my worst trait, and no amount of complaining from you is going to change the fact that we-"

Penny took a breath.

"-are already in the infirmary so your point is moot." 

Snape brought his attention away from Penny's insubordination to the medical wing in front of him, where a cordial and rosy Madame Pomfrey was wiping down an empty bed with a bleached disinfecting wipe. The mediwitch looked up and immediately squealed.

"Ms. Holbrooke!" Madame Pomfrey gasped when her eyes fell upon Penny's face. "What on earth happened to you; are you injured?”

Penny released Snape's wrist and gracefully spun behind him, pushing him roughly forward onto the tile of the infirmary. "I'm getting this idiot gosh darn medical treatment because he's too flipping stubborn to come himself and wants to rely on his potions for first aid treatment!"

"Do mind your language, Penny." Pomfrey chided. 

"I did." Penny returned in a poorly restrained reply. "Just now."

Snape fumed and attempted to leave but was soon overrun by Madame Pomfrey's diagnostic spells, which glowed a frightful bright red at the start of his right hand where blood now dripped diligently from his cloak into a forming pool on the floor. If the diagnostic spell was correct, the wound was likely quite deep.

"Thank you, Ms. Holbrooke." Pomfrey sighed. "It would seem you are correct. I was told that Professor Snape was uninjured by today's attack on his life, but I see he was fibbing unabashedly."

Snape's expression darkened. "Thank you, Poppy, but I do not need -"

"Oh, but I'm sure you do, Professor Snape, because you remember that most potions only work on non-curse related injuries, or have you forgotten?" Madame Pomfrey pushed her weight onto her hip, giving Snape an incredulous look. The man growled in defiance, but eventually stalked over to a nearby chair and sat down, thrusting out his injured hand towards the mediwitch and throwing a dirty look to Penny as he bled all over his robes and the floor.

His gaze softened, however, when he saw the state of Penny's face. She was sobbing with a bitter expression, teardrops dripping off her cheeks like a stream and onto the papers in her arms. He opened his mouth dumbly to form a semblance of a reply to her actions, but the blonde woman turned on her heel and fled from the room before he could even make a sound.

* * *

 

Penny stormed through the halls of Hogwarts, careening past Ministry workers and Aurors alike as they were left dumbfounded by the expression on her face and the bitterness in her eyes. Most hurried out of her path before she approached them, anger and hurt radiating out of her small body as she continued to sob.

She hated getting angry. Absolutely despised everything that came with the emotion - tears, anxious shaking, a fear of retaliation that only matched her dissent - and now she would have to deal with the consequences with angering the Head of Slytherin House and her colleague which would likely result in her suspension or at the worst her forced resignation

Her tears eventually blinded her, and she tucked into a hidden enclave before dropping to her knees against its wall as her papers fluttered to the ground. The pit of self-hatred that sat inside of her thrust up and her anger faded into a relentless depreciation that chipped away at her sanity. Her weak knee began to throb, and she knew if she'd stayed in the position she was in too long, she wouldn't be able to get up without help.

 _What a fucking mess_. She thought to herself as she continued to weep. 

* * *

 

"Hey, where’s Ms. Holbrooke?” Ron Weasley garbled quizzically as he stuffed his face with a wing of a chicken. His eyes were glued curiously to the empty chair beside one potion’s master, where the Muggle Studies teacher normally spent her meals.

The trio was seated at the far end of the Gryffindor table, closest to the teacher’s head table where McGonagall and Madame Hooch, the flying instructor, were having a riveting discussion about proper flying etiquette and their bets for the next weekend’s quidditch game.

Hermione looked over her large book, her curly-haired stuffed up in a bun to keep from losing it in her bowl of potato soup. Her face slipped into one of worry, as she wondered aloud, “Do you think she was hurt from the attack this morning?”

“I doubt it,” Ron replied, licking the bone of his chicken wing. “We’ve had heard about it, I think. Right lucky we were, being late to lunch.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. It had been startling to return to the castle from a visit to Hagrid’s hut to find Aurors and ministry workers about the place, some taking the time to gawk at Harry as he’d stood with his friends.

Hermione, bless her, had given them all a smart glare.

Harry looked over at the head table just as Professor Snape looked up from his meal. The boy gave the man a small wave, which earned him a curt nod in return. Ron chilled.

“Ugh. I think Snape smiled at me.” The freckled boy beside Harry carped.

“Ron, honestly?” Hermione looked about ready to smack him with her anthologized copy of _The Complete Works of William Shakespeare._

“What?” Ron defended. “Just because he was part of the Order doesn’t mean I should like him. He was a darn git to us all, or don’t you remember? You’d think he’d be nicer after we saved his sorry-”

Ron stopped his mouth as his brain caught up to him. He looked over at the expression on Harry’s face and restarted his sentence.

“-after what Harry did for him at the Wizengamot. I mean honestly, you’d think getting the man pardoned would be enough to warrant a better attitude.”

“It takes a lot of time for people to change, Ron.” Hermione chided. “Don’t forget how much of a git _you_ were when Harry came out to us last summer.”

Ron’s appearance soured, and he crossed his arms in defiance at Hermione’s jab. The speckled boy looked to Harry for support.

“She’s right, Ron.” Harry agreed. “You were definitely a git.”

Eventually, Ron crashed under the pressure of his girlfriend’s disappointed gaze and his best friend’s obvious indifference to his plight. He dropped his red-covered head down on the table with a whine.

“I’m sorry I thought you were into me and freaked out like a bloody turd, Harry,” Ron mumbled into the table top.

“You’re forgiven,” Harry decided, “as long as you never try to drunkenly sing _Bohemian Rhapsody_ ever again. My ears are still ringing.”

Hermione’s glare softened into a pleasant smile, and she returned her gaze to her book as she took in another spoonful of soup.

Ron lifted his head onto his arms. “Still, I wonder where she went off to.” He puzzled, reaching about for another chicken leg.

Harry felt a small urge begin to form between his legs, and he pulled himself up and off the bench. “I’ll be back.” He explained. “Need the loo.”

Just as he was about to turn about, something crashed into him with full force and he lost his balance, falling back towards the floor. A hand grabbed Harry’s own before he fell, stopping him in place before lifting him back to his feet with a general ease.

“Sorry about that,” a Hufflepuff boy apologized, “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

Harry blushed bright red, forgetting to let go of the older boy’s hands as he looked at the teen’s face. He recognized the boy from Dumbledore’s Army a few years back, then a quiet but determined student who’d wanted to help, and now a large and broadly built young adult.

The boy was taller than Harry by several inches, and his grip was firm and warm in Harry’s own. His hair was a curly light brown, and his eyes reminded Harry of the warm brown of the chocolate Remus used to give him during training.

The boy gently pulled his hand from Harry grasp. “Got to go now. Apologies again.” He said, before hurrying back off to wherever he had been headed to before.

For what was several long minutes, Harry stood flummoxed in his place, until Ron pulled sharply on his red robes and he snapped out of his stupor. Harry sat back down, all urges to relieve himself replaced with a frustrated feeling of attraction for the dirty blonde who had just literally swept him off his feet.

Hermione looked over at him with a meddling and knowing glisten in her eyes, and Harry took his turn to bang his head against the table and groan.

“No, Hermione.” He ordered.

Hermione turned the page of her book.

* * *

 

With the day at nearing its end, Penny Holbrooke sat in her office with a piping bowl of soup, looking at the copy of  _Wizarding Daily_  she had received by owl that morning before the attack with her sister's letter by its side.

She had eventually made her way to her rooms and washed up after the fiasco at lunch, managing to fake a smile through the rest of her classes that day. She had not attended that night's dinner, however, not wanting to cross paths with the potion's master until she felt she could handle the utter discomfort she would feel under his gaze. Instead, she sat mulling wearily over the front-page article about an American imam's recent vision and the residual prophecy which had translated to:

_The darkness did not lie on those of Muggle worth_

_They steal and take away what others right at birth_

_But lest a savior will appear in there upon the dawn_

_Will save us all from the taking of what will soon be gone_

_She who magic is without_

_Will turn the wizard world about_

"She who magic is without will turn the wizarding world about?" Penny grumbled in response to the so-called prophecy, taking a bite of the dinner roll that had accompanied her soup. "Does he mean a Muggle or a squib? It doesn't help if he's not specific."

The article, however, made her uncomfortable. Something about this 'great new prophecy' disquieted her down to her bones, and the letter she'd received from her sister, who wrote from the sandy depths of a magical and equally anthropological dig, didn't help the feeling of discomfort she'd felt after reading the article.

 _Penny,_ her sister had written _, strange things have started happening at the dig after we unearthed a scroll. It's from the time of the ancient, magical Egyptians, at least, and when translated it mentions a relation between squibs and the magical flow of the wizarding world. Something about missing pieces and great power._

_I don't really believe the thing, because there's no record of squibs even existing before the seventeenth century, especially not in the east._ _My dig lead has suggested we not release the scroll to the general public until they're sure it’s been correctly translated and I've agreed with him. I don't know what else is on that piece of script, but I don't want anything to do with it after today._

_I'll be coming home early. This has given me the heeby-jeebies._

_Yours,_

_Selena_

Penny made a mental note to research that; she did love to prove her sister wrong out of a friendly familial competition. Surely squibs existed before the seventeenth century; it was statistically unlikely they hadn't.

Sighing, Penny shoved the papers aside on her desk, turning her attentions back to her minestrone soup and the events of the day, trying to label and catalog all her emotions and experiences away in their mental filing cabinets.

At the moment, she felt mostly regret: regret for letting her temper get the better of her, as it rarely did, and allowing herself to push around an injured coworker instead of attempting to reason with him like a normal human being. Regret for not being able to do more during the days attack other than scream and flail a platter about, resulting in said coworker’s injury. Regret for not being having magic, or perhaps being a better person in general.

Penny took another spoonful of soup in her mouth as she tried not to let her feelings get the best of her.

Meanwhile, in the dungeons of the castle, Severus Snape paced back and forth in his rooms, his brows furrowed in concentration as he rubbed his bandaged hand. He thought of the bright-haired woman who had left him in this state of confusion, as she'd flown like a sparrow from the infirmary when he'd caught her wet, angry eyes. Though a different color, the expression in her eyes had reminded him strongly of an old, long-dead friend.

The memory pained him to remember, and he brushed the feeling back into the depths of his mind as he remembered the day’s earlier events.

"Severus Snape!" Pomfrey had scolded him, pointing towards the fleeing blonde woman, "what did you do to that poor girl?"

Snape sputtered. "That's none of your business, Poppy." He'd answered defiantly. 

Pomfrey had glared at him in return. "For heaven's sake, Severus. I thought your years of making poor girls cry were over. I'll ask again: what did you do to make poor Ms. Holbrooke rush out of here like a widow at church? Don't make me ask again."

Snape grumbled as Poppy cleaned and stitched his wound. The stout woman always had a distinctively maternal way of getting what she wanted out of people, and Snape was in no way immune to her abilities. She had been a surrogate mother to him over the years, and he owed her at the least an explanation of his actions.

"I was hit during the duel, but I thought nothing of it." He finally answered. "While I was breaking a curse near the dungeons, my hand pained me. Ms. Holbrooke was there. I made the now obvious mistake of angering her. She forced me here."

"And how, exactly, did you anger that sweet woman?" Poppy asked, rubbing a salve over Snape's sewn wound. He flinched at the sting. 

"She was angered that I had not sought medical attention," Snape answered.

"As she should be! You know better, young man." Poppy huffed. "Trying to potion away a curse wound - honestly, you're lucky it didn't become septic within minutes." 

"Poppy, I am hardly a young man."

Poppy laughed. "When you start acting your age, I'll call you such, dear. But really, its high time you stop this act of yours; the war is  **over** , Severus. You don't need to hide behind your old reputation anymore. Dumbledore isn't here anymore; Harry is  _safe_. I'm sure the students and the staff would respect you a bit more if you were a little kinder to them, instead of sending them off in tears."

Snape hummed in disdain at Poppy's suggestion. "I owe them no kindness."

"Oh, bollocks." Poppy cursed rarely. "You owe Ms. Holbrooke an apology, young man. If I speak to her when she comes in tomorrow and I hear you haven't apologized properly, I'll box your ears myself."

With that, she'd wrapped his hand and sent him on his way, pointedly reminding him of her threat before he left. 

He did not apologize. He'd stopped doing such silly things after his mother had died, as no one after her had deserved his pity. He'd been a Death Eater then, and pity was not an emotion he could safely feel without repercussion. 

The Dark Mark ached above his injured hand, now a meaningless symbol of a time passed. It had faded after Voldemort's death but not disappeared, a reminder of all the mistakes he had made in anger and suffering. He thanked any god that would listen that Lily's child had survived Snape's own idiocy, even if his beloved Lily had not. Harry, despite being the mirror image of wretched James Potter, was everything his father had not been: kind, truly courageous, and stupidly selfless, just like Lily.

The boy and his friends had stayed with him in the Shrieking Shack, intelligently calling for Fawkes who'd healed Snape's wounds enough to stabilize him. He'd woken up in Saint Mungo's with shackles on his arms weeks later, the poison free from his system and a court order for him to appear before the Wizengamot within the month.

Harry had surprised him even further and vouched for him during his trial, using the memory Snape gave him to prove Snape's role in turning the tide of the war. With the boy's help, Snape had eventually been hailed a hero who'd fought for good, though he did not feel like one. 

"I forgive you," Potter had said after the trial before leaving with the Weasleys.

Snape felt anything but worthy of that forgiveness. It was because of him that Harry had been through what he had. Had he not given up the prophecy, had he not grown jealous and angry, had he not-

Snape gripped himself with anger. 

Had he not called Lily such terrible things, she would be alive and happy. Harry would have grown up loved and cherished, and perhaps defeated the Dark Lord much sooner than he had. Perhaps Lily would have grown to forgive him, and he could have been a part of her life once more.

There was a lesson to be learned here, and Snape admitted to himself that it was high time he learned it, despite his pride and disdain for apologies. With that, he swept out the door of his office and strode towards the kitchens, his cape billowing behind him like a bat's wings.

"Winky," he called out as he walked through the dark halls of the dungeon. A sad, short and very pale house elf appeared beside him, desperately trying to keep up his pace. "Yes, Master Snape?" She asked in a cordial tone.

"Do you know Ms. Holbrooke well?" Snape asked.

"No, master," Winky replied. "But Poppy does. She is Ms. Holbrooke's personal house elf, almost. She knows more than Winky does."

"Call her here." He demanded.

"Yes, Master Snape." Winky popped away, and Snape stood in place until another house elf teleported in front of him, smiling softly with a tired look on her face.

"Questions you have for Poppy, Mister Snape?" The tan, doe-eyed house elf curtsied. 

"Does Ms. Holbrooke partake in wine, Poppy?" Snape asked.

"She does," Poppy answered. "Sweet wines, she likes. Peach, apple, very good."

"Fetch me a bottle, now," Snape ordered. 

Poppy's tired eyes seemed to twinkle with a clever light that reminded Snape of a late, meddling headmaster. She curtsied again, and announced, "at once," before disappearing with a snap of her long, tan fingers. She returned with a small, chilled bottle of cheap white wine, which Snape looked at with initial disgust. His expression made Poppy frown.

"Good wine it is, sir." Poppy chided. "One of her favorites, Poppy thinks. Always drinks two glasses, yes."

Snape sighed. "Give it to me, then. That will be all."

Poppy's eyes twinkled again, and she handed the professor the cold bottle before returning to the kitchens, leaving a small haze of smoke behind her as she whizzed away.

Snape continued his stride towards the first floor, eventually stopping just before the turn towards the kitchens. He straightened himself, cleared his throat, and looked down the hallway to make sure he was without company. It wouldn't do for another staff member or student to catch him in the act of an apology.

Snape whipped back behind the wall, however, when he saw the door to the Hufflepuff common room open just as he would have turned the corner. A small boy slipped out of the barrel, tapping his shoes down onto the floor as he looked around hesitantly. Snape recognized the boy as one of his new Slytherin first-years, a quiet and shy foster child who rarely spoke to others. He'd noted several bruises on the boy when he'd arrived the first night that reminded him eerily of his own childhood and was instinctually protective of him, a feeling which was mutual with many of the Slytherin House’s remaining upper years.

Snape watched as the young boy walked tensely towards the end of the hall where the door to Ms. Holbrooke's office stood, warmly yellow and shining slightly as moonlight reflected in through the windows. The petite child pulled a dark hand up to the door and knocked softly, twice.

"Just a minute!" A muffled voice said from behind the sunny door. Something dropped and sounded as if it shattered and a sharp "dang-nab-it!" could be heard from behind the door before it rattled and moved a few minutes later.

"Yes?" The woman asked as she opened the door, clad in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt with an obscure band logo on it. She had a white, stained towel draped around her neck and familiar rock music playing in the room behind her, a mop, broom, and rag obvious near the door. Ceramic was strewn on the floor behind her in a pile, and she stood in the doorway to deter entry.

"Oh! Hello, there. Who are you?" The woman asked, crouching down to the young boy's level. He looked down and away from her bright eyes, fiddling with his fingers and his feet.

"I'm Aamir," the dark-skinned boy answered.

"Ok, one sec. I can't hear you." The woman leaned up, right, and out of view, and the loud music stopped. She turned back to the boy and crouched back down.

"Is there something you need, Aamir? It's-" The woman pulled out what looked like a cellular device from her back pocket and checked it. "Yes, it's definitely past time for you to be out in the halls. I don't like taking away house points."

The boy pulled into himself even more, and he looked as if he regretted knocking. Ms. Holbrooke's expression softened immediately and she folded her hands together in front of herself.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. There's obviously a reason you'd be out this late trying to speak to me."

Penny looked at the boy's green and rumpled robes. "Are you in the Slytherin House?" She asked.

"Yes," The boy whispered. He began to cry quietly, sniffling with each tear. Penny leaned out of sight again and pulled a box of tissues out from her office, placing them on the ground before her and handing one to the boy.

"Did what happened today scare you?" Penny guessed quietly. The boy nodded his head as he blew his nose, fisting the dirty tissue in his hand.

Penny stayed silent for another long moment and then smiled. Snape watched the scene unfold before him, quizzically. 

"Okay, I'm going to tell you a secret." The blonde woman announced, leaning towards the boy as if to reveal the secrets of the universe to him. She smiled, looked away, then stared the boy straight in the eye and said, "It scared me, too. It scared me so much, I cried for an hour."

Aamir sniffled and considered Ms. Holbrooke's eyes, finding only sincerity. "It did?" The child asked.

"It really did," Penny replied. "I cried, and I cried because I was so scared. I was right next to Mister Snape, remember? I was really close to getting hit."

Aamir nodded.

"And it's okay to cry, no matter who you are. I learned in school that it makes you feel better after.”

The boy listened intently, his body language slowly opening to the teacher in front of him as she continued to speak.

"Scary things happen sometimes, and it can make us feel helpless. But you know what? There are more good people in the world than bad ones. Do you remember all the people who helped pin that boy down after Professor Snape stunned him? They wanted to keep him from hurting anyone else."

The boy nodded. "I was next to Draco Malfoy," he admitted. "He grabbed me and pushed me behind him, told me to stay there. A lot of other Slytherins did the same for the other first and second-years."

"See?" Penny cheered. "There are always helpers, Aamir, no matter the House. You just need to look for them."

Aamir's expression pulled away from tears and began to calm. He no longer looked as if he would continue to cry, but still held a small aura of fear about him.

"What did you do to make yourself feel better, miss?" Aamir asked the woman before him. 

"I used a magical potion. Would you like to know what it is?"

"Yes, please."

"Hot chocolate." Penny stood. "And I'm sure it would work wonders for you, too. Shall we see if the house elves will let us have some?"

Penny held out her hand, and the young boy gripped it tightly in response. A maternal look spread across Penny's face as she smiled confidently at him, then kicked the box of tissues into the room behind her and closed the door with her free hand.

The small woman walked Aamir down the hallway and opened the kitchen portrait with a firm pull as she called out: "Two cups of hot chocolate, please!" A house elf cheered inside the kitchen, and a clanging noise was heard soon after.

Snape watched the kitchen portrait close behind the two as he stood quietly at the other end of the hallway, the bottle of wine dripping from condensation in his injured hand. A thought later, he turned on his heel and strode back to his chambers in the dungeon, slamming the door behind him.

As he poured himself a glass of the wine he'd intended to gift, he admitted to himself that he'd obviously misjudged the squib - no, the  _woman_  - when he'd seen her with Lily's chess set in the Muggle Studies room. He'd been overcome with anger when he'd believed the woman was throwing the set away and had thought her to be the same as any Muggle: thoughtless, inconsiderate, and emotional. 

Seeing her comfort an especially volatile student from his own House softened him somewhat. She obviously had experience with children and teaching. She was competent, caring, although stubborn as an ox, and he had misjudged her. 

Bringing the glass of wine to his lips, he guiltily admitted it was excellent and passed out an hour and a half later with the bottle empty beside him, letting himself slip into dreams of kind smiles and poison, stinging pain taking the wound on his neck.

He'd apologize tomorrow.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright; I'm definitely going to add to this chapter later but here it is!


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